


No More Sunsets

by Ann_O927



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2020-05-15 00:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19284262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann_O927/pseuds/Ann_O927
Summary: Dallas Winston hates more things than he enjoys. When you like things, you become dependent on them. Dependent, was not on the list of words synonymous with Dallas Winston.But then he meets Johnny Cade, and then that list wrote itself. Now he wonders if he's dependent on the kid. Now he wonders what the consequences of dependence are.





	1. The List

He hated more things than he enjoyed. When you like things, you become dependent on them. Dependent, was not on the list of words synonymous with Dallas Winston.

Even the things people assumed he couldn't live without ,alcohol, girls, and cigarettes, he could live peacefully with them gone. He had learned to avoid addiction the hard way. Some things fell into an uncertain category with him, like horses and the constant brawls he got in. He occasionally found himself awake at night, staring at a rusty ceiling fan, wondering if he could live a life without violence, without showing dominance with his fists.

It was in his DNA, the only tangible thing his deadbeat dad had left him. And on some days, out of the blue, an uncomfortable feeling would settle in his stomach, taking up residence there. A small piece of him, the last innocent piece, the vulnerable part he kept tucked away, regretted that this was the man he had become. A stranger who couldn't last a day without laying a finger on someone. The feeling stayed for a moment before retreating to whatever vague area it had come from.

The list of things he approved of was limited, almost nonexistent. No. It was nonexistent. There was nothing there. Not horses, not his parents, not his life, especially not himself. No, he, himself, was right there on the top of the list of his most despised. He wasn't a person to be approved of.

When he was ten, sitting in a cell, his tiny hands wrapped around cold metal bars, a cold that would soon fill his body and become a part of him, he realized that any semblance of the person he once knew was long gone. Those small acts of kindness he would occasionally show, those infinitesimal, human moments where he allowed himself to feel, to cry, were no more. His heart was stone, and his eyes were dry.

And the only thing he could think of at that time was it was that damn kid's fault. Three years older than him but the first to know what would be inflicted upon a poor soul if they messed with Dallas Winston. That was when the rumors began to rip through the town, spreading like a wildfire throughout Tulsa. And when the Soc girls and boys began to whisper of the ten year old kid sentenced to years in the cooler for stabbing someone one too many times, that was the moment when young Dally became a stranger even to himself. And if anyone knew him, or cared enough to look, they would see a difference, but no one did.

But despite how much he had drastically changed, it didn't stop there. In prison he met guys, and in prison guys met him. Not guys, no, men. Men met him. Men called him fresh meat and took him into dark corners when the officers weren't looking. Men took the last bit of innocence that he thought he had already lost. And when those men had their fun with him they stole his last bits of self respect, they invaded the small facet of his soul that no one was ever supposed to discover. But even then, he had never cried. There was a perpetual lump in his throat, a heart-wrenching scream behind it, never to be released. That lump was his pride, the mask to his self-loathing. Over the years it would only continue to grow and grow until the sight of his own reflection in the mirror disgusted him.

On cold nights, when the cooler was quiet and the men were done, he would find himself curling on his hard bed, staring at the smallest bit of moonlight that showed through his thin, prison windows. The first nights, he remembered, he would bleed. He thought after the first time he would stop bleeding, when he hung around with the older boys in Tulsa and they talked about broads and sex they said after the first time it doesn't hurt, after the first time you don't bleed. But he bled the second time. And the third. And the fourth. He figured it was because he was so small. And he could never get use to the sting. He didn't cry, but it still hurt, as he curled up on his bed, his head tucked between his knees and the familiar sting seemed to pound into him again and again while he wished it would just go away but it never did because the next day another man came to give it back to him.

The list got very long in the cooler. First it was him, after that jail, after that officers who can't seem to notice the way that a psychotic man looks at a young boy every day and decide not to ask that boy if he's okay, after that the psychotic men who would take him during the afternoon in shadows and showers and at night, after that the moonlight that snuck into his cold room just to remind him that there was a world out there that he didn't deserve to explore. After that suicide. Dallas Winston hated suicide. He hated how the thought crept up on you when you least expected it, sounding so persuasive and serene and seductive, and right when you're about to listen to it and fulfill its promise, it suddenly leaves you and you're empty with nothing but a freezing knife in your hand and a heaving chest and if you didn't have fast reflexes you would have been dead already, right the when the persuasive thought leaves you and you die with regret.

When he left the cooler the list got longer still. And he seemed to make it his job to hurt anything and everything on there, with words, or fists, or switchblades. And it landed him in the place he hated the most, jail with nothing but his awful self and the continuous thoughts of suicide he conditioned himself not to listen to.

Eventually the psychotic men knew not to mess with him when he was fourteen. They no longer touched him and Dallas relished in the thought of inflicting the same pain they gave him, but he never could. He froze at the thought, the memory of the position he was in. Under a sweaty man, young and helpless, his wrists hurting because big hands squeezed them, preventing them from moving, and then the sting, oh, the sting. He wanted to give those men that same sting but never could. So he gave the sting to girls.

The rumor spread that Dallas Winston was a complete love-machine. That the tough exterior was just a way of hiding how comforting and desperate he was in bed. He wouldn't describe it as comforting in the slightest, and he doubted the girls would either. He imagined those poor girls as the men who used to hurt him, he imagined himself as a young ten year old looking for revenge. When they screamed he loved feeling like he had control over them, he loved hearing their pain, because when they felt pain they felt the sting. The glorious sting that haunted his first years in the cooler, the sting that made him the loving mess he was today.

Sometimes he stared at that rusty ceiling fan wondering if he was dependent on his sadistic love-making, if that was the one thing on the list of his approved. But it fell into the uncertain category. There was the moment right after the love-making, where he lay next to the girl and saw her shuddering and sweaty. And she was no longer an old man, but a blonde boy scared out of his mind. And he no longer was a young child seeking revenge, but a disgusting pervert hurting an innocent mind. As soon as that girl went to sleep he bolted out of the door and drank so much that his head buzzed in a million different parts of his brain. He was grateful to forget almost every moment the next day, even though it came with the price of a hangover.

His list extended and extended, while the other stayed empty. Void. Almost desperate for something to love. That invisible list became more physical, more needy. And he felt that hollow list in his hollow stomach.

When he met Sylvia, he was drunk and depressed, and he had the intention of filling that goddamned list. He didn't leave her as she slept, though the feeling crept up on him several times. He tried to watch how peaceful she looked in her dream-state, her flowing hair, her parted red lips as she sighed. He begged whatever god there was to give him something to love. But the next morning he just woke up with a hangover and a clingy slut who eventually would end up on the ever expanding list of his most hated.

Empty.

He was empty.

And worthless.

And still at the top of one list, and simply giving up on the other.

But then, that list wrote itself, slowly.

No quickly, it was quick.

Shall I stay?

Like a flash of lightning.

Like love at first sight.

The time was long, but it blurred as letters crept up on a once empty paper.

J O H N N Y

C A D E

Would it be a sin?

And he stared at that ceiling fan, a long forgotten smile on his foreign lips. Wondering if he was dependent on the kid.

Wondering what the consequences of dependence were.

If I can't help falling in love with you?

Elvis Presley- Can’t Help Falling In Love With You(1961)


	2. Pedastals

"Cancer stick?" Dally asked.

Johnny Cade no longer had that surprised look on his face when Dally shared something with him, he had gotten used to the fact that he was the only one the older boy would give something to. He took the weed in his dark fingers, placing them in his lips.

"Your eye's pretty busted," Dally stated, almost to no one in particular. His eyes didn't meet Johnny's, they looked towards the pale horizon. Dally didn’t enjoy eye contact, it seemed. And Johnny could understand why, the action felt so intimate to him. Something personal he couldn’t share with just anybody. Yet, for some reason, Johnny wanted to look into the eyes of the beast known as Dallas Winston. He wanted to see that deep sea of blue, he wanted to see if it stirred the way his stomach did whenever Dally decided to give him a perfunctory glance.

“I fell.” He responded softly, almost a mumble which you really couldn’t hear unless you held your breath it seemed.

Dally scoffed. Every I fell or I tripped, or I crashed no longer worked on him, it seemed. Still, Johnny couldn’t bring himself to say the truth, though it was clear as day in Dally’s eyes. He knew that Dally just wanted spoken confirmation of his beliefs, a tangible reason to go off on his old man. But he could never provide it.

“You think I’m stupid?” It came out like a threatening growl erupting from his throat. Johnny almost shivered at the sound.

“N-no.” God, one day he was going to kill himself. He should stop stuttering like an idiot. His cancer stick, he needs his cancer stick. Johnny took a deep inhale of calming smoke, letting it fly out of his mouth in an almost peaceful exhale.

“Then why do you keep on lying to me?” Dally’s New York accent affected Johnny differently at different times. Sometimes, it was what calmed him, it was what reminded him that this god he worshipped was still human. Sometimes it did nothing but shake him to the bone, and place Dally on a pedestal so high that he was once again unreachable and almost inconceivable.

It had been only about less than a year since they had met, yet the two boys already had a certain routine they seemed to continuously fall into. One second, Dally was high on his pedestal on top of the world and Johnny almost right next to him, so close that he could touch the boy’s pale skin. And the next, Johnny’s back hit concrete and he coughed out blood, trying to see his idol but he was so far away and so high that the sun burned Johnny’s eyes and he was alone.

“Because I’m stupid,” Johnny mumbled. That’s what he always did when his old man was mad at him and asked questions, instead of providing an answer he just put himself down. It happened constantly and so often that by now, Johnny began to believe each word he said with no hesitation.

Dally raised his eyebrow, his piercing gaze finally catching Johnny’s tame one. The sight lasted for only a second before he turned away with a sad smirk on his lips and a scoff in his throat. “Don’t say that.”

It was harsh and made Johnny flinch, perhaps Dally didn’t mean it but he couldn't help it. “Sorry.”

He shook his head, scoffing once again, his trademark sound. “Don’t apologize to me.”

Johnny fought the ‘sorry’ on his tongue and pursed his lips. Sometimes he didn’t know if it was better to speak or stay silent with Dally. Everything that escaped his mouth seemed to be frowned upon by the older boy, and he could never do anything right in his eyes. He tried. He tried smoking more and cursing more and drinking more, but he never prevailed. He would always be this little kid who could do no wrong. And Johnny knew that to Dallas Winston, wrong was always the way to go.

“I just don’t want to talk about it,” Johnny practically whispered.

Dally gave him a glance from the corner of his eye, then looked back and took a drag from his cigarette. “Okay, sure. Whatever.”

Johnny could hear the disappointment in his voice. As silence grew like a thick and humid blanket over their shoulders, he resisted every temptation to apologize, to beg for his idol’s forgiveness for ruining their moment, all because he was stupid and too insecure and he should know better. He didn't, however, he knew that would make Dally hate him more.

 

Hey Cupid, where are you?...

My heart is growing sadder…

 

He watched Dally’s lips. They had a cigarette in between them, they sucked and then they blew, and then they pursed, and then they sucked again. But they never opened wide enough to say a word. They remained cold, shutting the rest of the world out. Not speaking and leaving Johnny empty.

 

Some guys have all the luck…

 

From the first moment he saw Dally, Johnny already knew. He knew who Dally would be to him. A desperate need, a stupid, never to be obtained, wanting. It was almost like love at first sight, it seemed. A glimpse at his ocean-deep eyes and almost white locks and Johnny was gone, lost in an oblivion of dreams and hopes. Dreams and hopes that would inevitably crash and burn, and leave him hollow. But at least he had them.

He had never felt this way with anyone. He was usually reserved to strangers. And at first, Johnny thought that the odd, tickling flutter in his stomach was fear, the same with his uncontrollable stammers and wide eyes and frantic heartbeat. He tried to convince himself it was just nerves, but he soon found that it wasn’t.

Johnny couldn’t see how it added up, nobody could. Not Ponyboy, Darry, or Soda. Nobody could understand how the shy and innocent Johnny was practically obsessing over this rebel who was in the cooler at the age of ten. But to them it mattered, and they wondered. It didn't matter to Johnny, no, he was fine with it. He let the emotions steal his soul and found himself going wherever the stream of his thoughts took him. His mind had no filter, that’s why he tried not to say much, he never knew what would come out.

So why did he have to talk so damn much in front of Dally?

Dally took the weed in his fingers and rolled his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, breaking the unbearable silence by awkwardly repeating, “Whatever.”  
Johnny didn’t know what he meant, and couldn’t ask because any possible word would have been interrupted with the loud stomp of Dally’s boot as he smashed the cigarette he had just tossed to the floor. That was his way of ending the argument, his way of saying any previous conversation was over. His cigarette was the moment, and the moment was crushed, discarded, and forgotten. Time to start over with a clean slate.

After the stomp came Johnny’s breath of relief. He could almost see the pedestal Dally stood on sinking gradually, not reaching his level, but nearing it enough that his nerves were no longer spiked so frantically.

“I’m going to Buck’s. Coming?” Dally asked, his tone of voice showing that he couldn't care less whether Johnny responded or not.

 

And my heart hasn't any…

 

Before Dally, the thought of going to such a rowdy place meant for drunk and horny adults never even crossed Johnny’s mind as an option. But that was before Dally. Funny how you can change so drastically in only a short amount of months.

 

I think I'll paint a sign…

 

“Yeh,” Before he could finish his answer, Dally had already turned and began to make his way from the park to the dark shadows of the town. Johnny hopelessly followed.

The pedestal stopped moving like a frozen clock on its last tick. It was in that area of dark gray. He wasn’t out of reach, but he wasn’t able to be touched.

 

For sale for a penny… 

 

Elvis Presley- One Broken Heart for Sale(1963)


	3. Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, bit of a disclaimer here, there's like a slight racial slur in the chapter followed by a hint of racism from Dallas Winston. Basically, I took into account that this is the 1960's and even though the East side of America-New York, where Dallas has lived-has been populated by diverse cultures and races for decades, that doesn't mean that they were filled with the most racially accepting people. I just have the feeling that Dallas Winston wasn't a liberal or an advocate for liberal things and I think he was a little, if not a lot, racist. But in my story I make Johnny kind of Italian-as an homage to Mr. Maccio, and a little Latino, as an homage to me myself and I(I'm African-Latina). So just beware and proceed with caution.

“Wanna come an’ see my gang?”

Dallas didn’t know what he was looking for when he saw the sign that read “Welcome to Tulsa.” He didn’t know if he was looking for the members of his old gang, the people that had abandoned him bleeding on wet concrete to give them the revenge that had been building up inside of him for years, whether he was looking for Tim Shepard, the boy who he had once called a friend before he inevitably betrayed him as well, a clean slate, a way to start over, or perhaps he was just looking for something to fill his empty list of his most wanted. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but he knew this wasn’t what he was looking for.

“You have a gang?” Dallas responded, critically eyeing the older boy in front of him. He had a bulkier build, a thick accent, and a face lined with years and experience. But not Dallas’s kind of experience, he could tell. He was lit with a relenting smile that Dallas immediately disliked, a laugh was present in every word he said.

“Well, yeh. We ain’t as tuff as y’re,” So the boy knew Dallas. It was inevitable. Dallas was already conscious of the rumors of his return spreading. It was Tulsa’s own Dallas Winston, back from three years in New York, ready to rowdy up this shabby place again. “But we’re a’right.”

Dallas already knew how gangs worked in a place such as this one. They were filled with outcasts, people disregarded by police prejudice and the rich snobs, looking for an opportunity to prove themselves as more than worthless, hoping but acting like they had no more hope, knowing nothing but pretending they were wise. Greasers. The biggest hypocrites of them all.

“I ain’t really lookin’ to join a gang.” He had been there, and he had done that. People went their whole lives searching for someone to be there for them, yet they spent their every living moment leaving everyone else behind. Dallas found it easier not to hold onto anything, and not give anyone the hope that he would stay by their side. He never made a promise, and that way he could never break one.

“You don’t have to join,” the boy said. His grin faltered for an infinitesimal moment before returning in an even brighter state. “It’s just good t’have allies around here. Y’get jumped often.”

Dallas took his weed in between his two fingers and blew a sharp breath right in the boy's face. “I can manage.”

The boy never broke his smile. “I’m sure y’can.”

Dallas watched him with scrutiny. There was a clatter about, waitresses on roller skates making their ways to groping hands hungry for a hamburger and a woman. His first stop in Tulsa was at the Dingo, and he didn’t know why. He was hardly hungry, and when he saw the boy Dallas instantly regretted the spontaneous decision to come here.

“But maybe y’might like us.”

Dallas smirked. “Kid, I don’t like anybody.”

It was almost like he cursed himself when he said those words.

Dallas was led away from the Dingo, down streets and crosses where he used to smoke with the older guys in his group, past the alley corner where he had his first kiss, away from the park where he stabbed that one kid whose name he had already forgotten. It was almost like his previous and more innocent life was flashing before his eyes, taunting him. Laughing at the pain of his memories, grinning knowing that happier and more simpler times would never again be obtained. Dallas Winston was gone, and so was the street he had his first weed, the drug store where he first stole, the playground with his favorite swing set, the restaurant with his favorite coloring menu.

Shadows enveloped him, swear words caught his ears left and right, cigarette smoke tickled his nose. He was in the shabby part of Tulsa, the poor area, where he used to live with his mom and dad. Nostalgia hit his gut like a knife and his stomach twisted. He wanted to go back. He had to go back. This was too much. His stomach hurt. He was gonna throw up. God, he was gonna be sick.

Worthless, he was worthless.

He didn’t deserve this.

He should’ve never been happy, because then he would have no memory of it to compare it to himself now.

“When are we gonna get there?” Dallas barked. Attempting desperately to sound impatient and not scared, not frightened. 

The boy just grinned. “We’re almost there, man.”

Two-Bit, Dallas remembered. The boy’s name was Two-Bit. By then, Dallas had already forgotten his real name. By then he didn’t care.

His heart nearly stopped when they passed his old house. He could almost hear his father screaming. His mother crying. The way her eyes looked like lifeless pools of dull, murky water when she decided to leave them, how she walked out the door and he knew he would never see her again. The flinch-causing sound of a beer glass breaking when it hits a wall, a shard striking Dallas’s cheek and making him bleed slightly.

“We’re here,” Two-Bit said.

It was a house. Not a dark alley corner to curse and smoke in, like Dallas had thought. Warmth seemed to radiate and spread through the shadowed corners of the neighborhood from the screen door. The soothing voice of Elvis made its pleasant way to Dallas’s ears, and the voice of a woman humming along came with it. The stench of cigarette smoke was now replaced with what seemed like a meat meal, but Dallas couldn’t tell what it was. It had been forever since he had actually eaten a meal, now the only food he knew was hamburgers and sloppy joes and whatever mud the prison felt like serving him.

“C’mon!” Two-Bit said. He ran up the stairs of the porch and headed towards the door. Before he opened it he looked back at the hesitant Dallas and said in almost a joking matter, “And hey, try to be nice.”

Dallas felt a scoff rise in his throat, but it didn’t quite make it. The screen door creaked as it opened, and Two-Bit disappeared before Dallas could make a witty response. The door swung, and it didn’t seem to stop. It kept swinging, open and closed, open and closed, never losing enough energy to finally seal itself shut. It was almost like an invitation, he could just leave. He doubted the kid would care.

But no. Dallas stopped the door mid-swing and went inside, a vague and heavy feeling disrupted his hollow stomach. He could tell that it wasn’t hunger.

“Keith!” Dallas heard upon entering the house.

That was Two-Bit’s real name, he thought. Keith.

The place was as warm, if not warmer, as it looked on the outside, seductive and tempting, begging you to come inside and promising you wouldn’t regret it. He already did.

A slim woman with a plump face that looked old and worn out made her way to Two-Bit, her hair a golden-brown, straight and flowing, her eyes seemed like deep grass on a pure sunset. A smile was plastered on her wrinkled cheeks. Almost like an angel.

“Keith, sweetie, how have you been?” She asked him sweetly, a voice of honey.

It dawned on Dallas then that she wasn’t an angel. She was a mother, a good one at that. Which was something as rare as a celestial body in his life. He looked at the bulky boy besides him being helplessly enveloped, was that his mother?

“How’s your mom been?”

So she wasn’t.

He pulled back from her embrace. “She’s doin’ just fine, Mrs. Curtis.”

Mrs. Curtis. She bit her bottom lip and headed towards the kitchen, where the almost sweet scent of that meat meal was most present. She looked at him, her grin becoming wider if possible. “After dinner you should bring her some of the leftovers! I know she ain’t the best cook.”

He laughed. “Like mother like son.”

They were very alike, Dallas found. They both had unrelenting and inexorable smiles, beams that taunted you with their eternal happiness. The thought of them ever being sad was almost unimaginable, unfathomable. Almost contagious, but not enough that Dallas could obtain the feeling.

The woman looked up from her large plate of food and glanced towards Dallas’s direction. Her eyes widened in delightful surprise. “Oh, and who’s your new friend, Keith?”

He walked her way, to the kitchen. “This is Dallas,” he introduced smoothly. He smirked and playfully whispered, “He’s a hood, Mrs. Curtis.”

“A hood?” She repeated inquisitively, looking at the blonde boy with a curious gaze. “Two-Bit, is this true or are you just pullin’ my leg?”

Two-Bit laughed heartily. “No I ain’t! Just ask ‘im!”

She chuckled, Dallas almost thought it was beautiful. “What, Dallas? You really a hood?”

He looked into her deep-green eyes. It was almost as if she radiated light, like she was made of pure gold. He felt almost baffled by intimidation, speechless in a sense. But he gulped and found his cool voice once more. “I guess that’s for other people to judge.”

She grinned at him. She walked over to a cabinet, taking a knife from its contents, only to return to her dinner and begin to cut the meal. “Is that an accent I hear, Mr. Winston?”

“Uh-huh,” he smoothly responded.

“New York?”

“Uh-huh.”

She laughed, glancing at him and taking a break from her cutting and slicing. “Do you speak with words, Mr. Winston?”

When was the last time someone had ever spoken to him like this? Sternly, but sweetly all the same. He felt his throat tighten. “Yes, I do.” His voice was cold.

“Why’d you move?” He thought to himself that her questions should feel like smothering to him, but they didn’t. They felt like comfort. “Were the cops chasing you for bloody murder or somethin’?”

His old man. He came back ‘cos his old man found him, but she didn’t need to know that. At that moment he saw that she really didn’t need to know anything. “Not really.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you.” She gestured to the food in her hands. “I hope you’re gonna stay for dinner. We’re havin’ cass’role!”

Casserole.

When was the last time he had eaten casserole?

Had he ever eaten casserole?

Two-Bit graciously led him to the couch in the center of the living room. It was worn out, dilapidated with the warmth of age and familiar comfort. Like a happy old man content with his life in the form of a sofa. As soon as they sat, Two-Bit turned on the T.V. Mickey Mouse played. Dallas waited for him to change the channel, but he never did, he sat back and grinned his stupid, hearty grin.

“My boys are out,” Mrs. Curtis continued. Dallas could hear the clink of plates. “They’ll be coming back in a bit. My oldest boy, Darry, is out with my husband.” She laughed silently. “His name’s Darry too. My other boys are Sodapop and Ponyboy,” Dallas bit his cheek to prevent his smirk. “Don’t you go makin’ fun of ‘em now! I see that smile, Winston! You like music? Rolling Stones? Are you an Elvis guy, or a Beatles guy?”

She wouldn’t stop talking, and Dallas eventually found that he didn’t mind. Her words were like sweet honey pouring in from both sides of his head, teasing his ears with their delightful sound. The voice of Mrs. Curtis was more melodic than the Elvis songs booming on the stereo behind her. 

“It's a wonderful life, life's good to me,” Dallas heard scattered through her constant words.

 

What a wonderful life, life's good to me, yeah… 

 

Crazy life, life's good to me… 

 

Oh what a life… 

 

“Boys, you stop that now!” Mrs. Curtis suddenly called in the silence that formed while Dallas waited for another song to play on the station. He watched the woman as she stopped her work and placed wrinkled but energetic hands on her flat hips. She wasn’t a pretty woman, and he doubted she was ever a pretty girl, not like the kind he spent his free time chasing around. But he didn’t need to question why anyone would pursue her, something about her was intoxicating in every type of way. Sweet and seductive like sugar.

Must be a nice husband, he thought. But she was just a nice girl.

Two boys bolted into the living room from the door, rolling around like they were in a real brawl, and yet they were laughing. Dallas didn’t know if he could handle another laugh in this sickly-sweet house but for now he just endured it. The boys punched and kicked despite Mrs. Curtis’s orders, and it’s not like she even bothered asking again. She just grinned and turned up the volume. 

 

Kiss me quick, while we still have this feeling… 

 

Hold me close and never let me go… 

 

'Cause tomorrows can be so uncertain… 

 

“Boys, if y’all stopped for a second, y’might be able to meet Two-Bit’s new friend.” With these words she still didn’t stop placing cheese-filled slices of casserole on each empty plate. She took each piece with care, one finger holding them on an old, worn-out, metal spatula. The plates clinked at the contact.

“Two-Bit, you finally get yourself a girlfriend?” A boy stood from the fight, his hair slicked with grease and seemingly untouched. His face was young and fair, his eyes a light, vivid green. The only thing that made Dallas think this boy could possibly be related to Mrs. Curtis was those eyes of his, because he was pretty, which was a characteristic his mother couldn’t claim. 

Two-Bit made an awful yap sound as he guffawed at the accusation. “Hey, Dally, wanna be my new girlfriend?”

Dallas wanted to hit him, but the presence of Mrs. Curtis uneased him enough to prevent him from doing anything of the sort.

“She sure is pretty,” The boy chortled in response. The kid next to him rose up from the ground and vigorously dusted himself off.

“Two-Bit, I always knew you was a queer!” He called.

“Steve, you watch your language in my house!”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Dallas already knew what kind of house this was. This was a loud house, filled with yells and laughter, but refusing something as taboo as a swear word. It was religious, he could see the wooden cross on the wall above the T.V., and a Bible was on a stand next to the couch. It was a close house, everyone knew each other and played along. It was a family where the only blood they shared was their love for one another.

He already knew what kind of house this was. He didn’t know how he would fit in, and he didn’t know if he ever even would.

“Soda, when’s Dad and Darry comin’ back?” Mrs. Curtis asked politely.

“Soon,” he said smoothly, a cheeky grin revealing young dimples.

About an hour passed with them as soon came and went. Soda asked if they were having casserole and kept on asking like if he wasn’t hasty then the answer would change. Dallas sat in what seemed an uncomfortable position on the old man of a couch, almost as if he was waiting for himself to be involved in the conversation, and yet he wasn’t. The family included him nonetheless as it seemed to be a custom of their courtesy, but he was completely comfortable with only observing these shenanigans of theirs, not like he possessed enough lack of dignity to take a part in them. 

The door swung open as two men entered. One was old, with cold, rough eyes and a tired face of years and years of too many memories and sorrows, a body built with the evidence of manual labor created and perfected over a lifetime. He was like the couch except he was missing the satisfaction that life was supposed to provide. It reminded Dallas of his old man. The boy next to him was undoubtedly the second oldest in the room, but his eyes were filled with an energetic youth and admiration for the man in his sight. His son, for sure.

The old man rubbed his tired temple, looking about ready to lay down and sleep, but was almost surprised at the amount of company crowding his house. He forced a grin with as much enthusiasm as he had left in his fragile seeming body. “Keith, Steve, Soda.”

The fair boy raised his hand from his spot in the kitchen, where he busied himself by stealing bites from every individual plate of still steaming casserole, “Hey, pops!”

When seeing his son’s response, the man took notice of the aging woman next to him. A light that was previously disregarded was once again found in his eyes as he took long strides her direction, finally reaching and picking her up with two hands on her hips. “Honey! I missed you so much!”

After a brisk peck on her lips she grinned. “That much? It’s only been less than a day!”

The man put her down. “Too long for my old soul to handle.”

She chortled and playfully slapped him on his shoulder. “Oh, quiet, Darrell!”

The man beamed and rubbed aching hands together. “Let’s eat.” He reached out for a plate only to get his hungry fingers swatted.

“Darrell!” Mrs. Curtis chastised. “We have to wait for Pony and Johnny!”

Darrell's face darkened at the name. “That kid. Where even is he?”

“Oh, calm down.” She retorted, her voice loose but firm, a warning to not go any further. Yet, he did not heed it.

“Why should I? He’s been late to dinner more times than I can count.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“When I was eleven,” he began, and with his way of speech Dallas could already tell those words had been recounted more times than once. “I had to work jobs shining shoes and pickin’ up scraps-”

“When you were eleven,” Mrs. Curtis interrupted with an iconic beam, but her eyes were stern and demanding, “you’re family didn’t have no money, and nobody had no money. When I was eleven I had to clean the house everyday when my mama went cleaning other people’s houses and my dad was outta town lookin’ for a decent job. I cooked dinners with day-old bread and smelly food. So don’t you tell me ‘bout when you were eleven.”

“I can do whatever I want, it’s my house,” he said, but Dallas noticed that the words fell softly and under his breath, a hint of fear in them. Maybe it was his house, but he was her man.

When he saw those bags and the way that the man moved flashes of his old man appeared in Dallas’s mind, and the image stayed up until the moment that Darrell’s eyes landed on Mrs. Curtis. His old man was cold, no matter who he was around and talked to. Though Dallas didn’t remember much of her, he still recalled that not even his mother could melt the ice that was his father’s glare. She never did much of anything, not a word she said popped in Dallas’s mind of her doing anything to deserve the yells and slaps she obtained from the monster that was his relative.

He couldn’t decide if it was Mrs. Curtis who was lucky that she found a man soft enough to change, or if it was Darrell for finding a woman strong enough to change him.   
“Pony, man!” Dallas heard behind him. The large boy Darrell had entered with lazily placed his arm over the shoulder of a young boy who just entered from the door. He whispered in the smaller kid’s ear just loud enough for Dallas to hear from his spot on the couch, “You’re screwed again.”

He shrugged the giant limb off of his body, pouting like the child he was. “I always am.” He crossed two small arms over his chest.

Darrel took a break from sticking stubby fingers in a fresh slice of casserole and placing the taste on his tongue. “Ponyboy!” He called, his eyebrows furrowing. “Where were you?! What time is it, you know?!”

The small boy rolled his small eyes, the same color that the family collectively shared. Hazel green, wide-eyed, and doe. His frame was small, but legs long, tall for his age. Plump and rosy cheeks indicating good health, it was very likely that he had never smoked a cigarette in his life. Brown hair with streaks of gold, just beginning to be greased and clinging to a sweaty forehead. He had been running, and with those legs Dallas assumed that he was a good runner.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, son!” Deja-vu struck Dallas violently like lightning, almost causing him to shiver. Look into my eyes, don’t turn your back to me, don’t walk away, no good, useless, ungrateful. He had heard it all. Why did he come back to Tulsa? So that he could listen to those useless commands again? Did he think something would change, that he would suddenly get a father?

Watching the reprimanding of so-called “Ponyboy” right in front of his eyes, Dallas decided that fathers were useless and he was lucky to barely have one.

“Where’s Johnny?” Mrs. Curtis patiently interrupted. “It’s almost time for dinner.”

Ponyboy grinned. “He’s catching up. We had a race,” he raised a cocky eyebrow, “and I won.”

The fair brother, Soda, leaned his big frame over Ponyboy’s small body. “You better win, always.” Next to him, the older brother patted his firm hand on the kid’s shoulder. Ponyboy shook off their grip. Dallas didn’t like little kids, and he doubted he would ever like this one.

“He better not be far behind,” Mrs. Curtis spoke. “Or you’ll be in trouble for leavin’ him. He ain’t a good runner, you know. I’ll have you go after him if he don’t come back in two minutes.”

“Mom!” He whined.

“Don’t talk back to your mother!”

“I can handle myself, Darrell.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your heartfelt moment,” Two-Bit said, a stupid grin on his bulky face as he looked out of the window, the glow of the sunset illuminating sideburns that were in desperate need of being shaved. “But little Johnny’s coming.”

Mrs. Curtis let her smile seep through again, never relenting in its eternal bliss. “Well, look who’s lucky, right Pony?”

“Yeh,” the boy mumbled.

Two-Bit opened the door, his smirk gleaming like a diamond. “Good baby Jesus, look who’s here.” He extended his hand for a friendly pat to the sweaty body nearly out of Dallas’s sight. “Dang, Johnny, you look like the devil was near about chasin’ ya.”

Though Dallas couldn’t hear anything, the boy must have responded because Two-Bit just laughed, and Dallas had already pegged him for crazy but not insane. A rough slap on a back erupted as a small and dark frame came inside the house, a young face with swollen cheeks being enveloped by bangs of hair, greasy from gallons of sweat and not gel. One dark eye was visible and the next completely covered. 

But Dallas saw it, that one eye. It was big, and doe. Innocent like no other greaser kid in Tulsa’s should be. Sensible, weak. Like a stray puppy on a damp street, looking right into your soul with large pupils, begging for a home you could never provide, but the damn thing kept on whining.

And Dallas hated whining dogs.

“You’re sweatin’ like the devil on a Sunday!” Mrs. Curtis exclaimed, fretting like the nervous mother she was born to be. She rushed over to him with napkins, mumbling incoherent things under her breath, things about showers and clothes. “And all because my boy. I’m so disappointed, you sure you’re alright?”

“He’s not dead!” Ponyboy called, next to his father in the kitchen, poking fingers where they shouldn’t be poked and licking the consequences.

Mrs. Curtis huffed as she prodded the frail body away from the living room. “Pony, please let Johnny speak for himself.”

As the boy left his eyes darted in every direction except for a familiar face. He must’ve been shy, probably real jumpy, too. Those big, doe, almost black, rings glanced in every direction until accidentally landing on Dallas’s face. Their gazes locked for a minute, unsuspecting yet not alarming. And still, the boy flinched and looked away. Leaving the scene and soon coming back with wet hair and clothes too big for him.

“Boys, why don’t you introduce yourselves to our guest? You too, Darrell.” Mrs. Curtis said some time later, she folded her hands and delicately set her elbows on the table.

Every face looked up, each one with mouths of stuffed casserole. Far too busy moaning over the delicious food to bother to speak. But Dallas could tell that none of them would dare defy her. She probably had a secret weapon hidden somewhere.

Dallas tried to stop his eyes from rolling back in complete bliss as his taste buds exploded at the first bite. This was no prison mud, and it was no crappy twenty-five cents beer that you could pick up at the Dingo. This was food, and he couldn’t have asked for anything better. His plate was halfway finished already.

The old man scoffed, mouth dirty with the meat filled treat. “Doesn’t he already know my name?” With a glare earned from his wife, he reworded the sentence. “I’m Darrell. This woman’s husband.”

“Unfortunately.” She made an attempt at a straight face but ultimately failed.

“I’m Darry!” The biggest boy there gleamed. His hair was ungreased and cut short, combed to stay away from his eyesight and give him no troubles. He had changed from a shirt dirty from work to a clean white t-shirt, and he ate his dinner with a napkin just so to keep his clothing neat. If he wasn’t so poor, he would have been a Soc. “I’m the favorite and the golden child!”

“Beauty before age!” Soda playfully coughed in his hand.

“That’s not how the phrase goes,” Darry responded.

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s it.”

Mrs. Curtis cleared her throat for order and attention, turning her gaze to the kid brother sat at the edge of the table. “Ponyboy?”

His eyes drooped in boredom and disbelief, but he swallowed whatever pride he had left along with his casserole. “I’m Ponyboy.”

“And-” Mrs. Curtis pressed.

He pointed to the dark boy sitting next to him. “This is Johnny.”

“Ponyboy, please let him speak for himself.”

“He don’t like to speak!” The kid whined. “He told me last month that he don’t like speaking and he asked me if I could start talking for him and I said sure because he said that everytime he says something-”

The boy nudged him silently, prevalent enough to stop him, yet still soft to be subtle. Dallas noticed however. That was the issue with trusting little kids, they couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

Mrs. Curtis simply sighed. “Well, I guess that part’s over.” She took a delicate bite of food and folded her hands together, all business like, as she chomped down and finally swallowed. “So, Dally, tell us about yourself.”

He was caught in a surprise moment of utter contentment as a nice bite of meat and red sauce was trapped in his mouth. He fought a blush of shame and cleared his throat, letting any euphoria leave him and retreating to his cool exterior. “Nothing much to know.”

Mrs. Curtis grinned. “Oh, come on son, there’s everything to know.”

He stayed silent.

Her smile wavered, the sight threw him off. “What’s your favorite color?”

He shrugged. “I never think about that.”

“What do you think about?”

“Nothing,” he responded, his voice rough with years of smoking for fun and for gang acceptance. “I never think, I just do. Stuff happens.”

“You don’t like thinking?”

“I ain’t smart.”

The table stayed silent, other than the vexatious sound of cheap forks hitting dirty plates. A low, growl of a cough erupted from the intimidating figure across the table. Darrell’s eyes were dark with impatience. “You don’t think? You’re not smart? How do you do in school?”

Dallas eyed the man with the same disapproving glare. “I don’t go. I dropped out when I was ten.”

“Ten?” He asked his eyes widened. “Ten.” Suddenly he scoffed. “Two-Bit, these are the kind of influences you bring in my home? You know my sons-”

“Darrell,” Though her voice was smooth, you could hear the firm impatience in Mrs. Curtis’s tone. The firmness in her eyes now exceeded a warning, it was a plain order. Darrell shut up immediately, knowing his comments were no longer wanted. His glare still did not relent.

Mrs. Curtis rolled her eyes. “You are in no position to judge him. Who knows why he dropped out.” The way her gaze flickered suddenly to him made Dallas know she was waiting for an answer, a rational reason to defend him. He felt afraid to respond, and he hated being afraid.

“My old man needed me to work.” It wasn’t a lie. His mother left, his old man went crazy for a few months, money was in short supply, and whenever he went to school he would just come back to an old drunk wallowing and yelling over the fact that his son wasn’t doing anything to help. His useless, worthless, lazy son.

Pride was eminent in Mrs. Curtis’s beam. “See, Darrell. Ain’t nothing different than what you did.”

“Nothing different,” the man sighed in defeat.

The rest of the table fell silent. Dallas would have blushed if he still had his shame. So he just kept on eating, feeling everyone’s gaze on him. He never felt comfortable until he could see them all look away through his peripheral vision. Yet one stare never seized. In impatience he looked up, seeing the eyes of the dark, young boy on him. Looked like a spic, he thought. A really dark spic. He didn’t like spics or black people or dogs. He shouldn’t like him, but the hatred wasn’t coming to him.

Dallas tried to glare at the kid, give him a visual warning to back off, but he seemed paralyzed. In the end it wasn’t a glare that got the kid to stop staring, he just blushed red and went back to eating. Dallas seemed to remember himself at that time, and he went back to eating too.

“Thank you, darling, for the food.”

Dallas paused, fork halfway in his mouth. A few more bites and his plate would be completely empty. He glanced momentarily at Darrell, who had paused eating for a chance to thank his wife. The table fell incredibly silent for a moment in Dallas’s mind, his confused mind that was trying to wrap itself around this strange familiar bond he never had the chance to experience. His father never thanked his mother for any meal. His father was never home for any meal. His spent his nights drinking at the bar, and on special occasions spending money on women for love he could just get from his wife. Dallas never understood what skanks could provide that his mother never could, after all she had something they didn’t: dignity.

But he really couldn't blame his father all that much. When he came to women, he was just the same.

“Thank you, mother.” Darry called in response.

And almost like a sickly-sweet chorus everyone at the table began thanking her. Each individual voice combining together like some kind of heartfelt movie you’d see on cheap T.V. Even the voice of the tiny kid who Ponyboy had claimed didn’t like talking. It almost made Dallas tense in discomfort.

Soon the chorus and their song was over, but a strange silence remained, and Dallas soon found the unrelenting gaze of the entire table on him. He looked up from his plate, meeting gray eyes, and hard eyes, and hazel green-gray eyes, and those big, puppy eyes way on the other side of the table that were so brown they could be black. They were all expecting.

He stiffened. “Uh-I-uh-th-thank you. Thank you.” He hated stammering, it made him feel like he was the same young and inexperienced kid roaming the streets for money and finding gangs instead. Awkward, embarrassed. He hated those feelings too. And, as everyone began collecting their plates and leaving the suddenly empty boy once again alone in an unfamiliar, dark place, he decided that he hated this house. It was nothing more than just another prison cell dressed as a welcoming home, just as judgemental and hypocritical as any other greaser family in Tulsa.

“Good night, Mrs. Curtis,” Dallas heard a soft voice say after dinner when he was seated on the couch, just waiting for the right moment to leave.

“Going so soon, Johnny?” She responded.

Dallas watched the small figure out of the corner of his eye, he watched his bad posture and his slumped back, hands rubbing his arms like he was always cold, hair still covering his other eye. “Yeh, my parents will worry if I don’t get home soon.”

“Alright.” Mrs. Curtis walked his way and enveloped him in the smallest of hugs, planting a faint kiss on his swollen cheeks. “Tell your mother I said hi, I haven’t seen her around much lately.”

The boy gave a smile, Dallas knew that smile. He saw the pain in it, the ugliness. He decided to ignore it. As he went, Dallas could hear the whispers of the family behind him. “Sad kid, thirteen but looks younger than Pony. His father needs to put him in some sports, no boy should be that-”

“Darrell,” Mrs. Curtis hissed.

“What? A boy like that? Someone might think he’s a q-”

“Don’t you say it.”

“...”

“He’s a boy like our boys, and no matter what he does he will always matter, Darrell.”

The kid left, and soon enough, so did Two-Bit. Dallas found he would feel uncomfortable without the boy’s presence, and decided to follow suit after him. Though Steve wasn’t related to the family, he acted like it, and Dallas felt as if he was intruding on their privacy, so he left once he heard the door swinging shut and felt the absence of one young man’s laughter.

He decided to go without making a noise, or saying goodbye, not wanting anybody to notice. He didn’t know if the sound of his footsteps betrayed him, but Mrs. Curtis did notice. “Are you going, Dallas?”

He stiffened, but turned to face the woman nonetheless. “Uh-huh.”

She stared at him for a little longer than necessary, her beautiful eyes looking for a soul inside of him that was long gone. Her green-gold rings flickered with light as she smiled. “Make sure to visit us again.”

He didn’t intend on doing so ever again. “Uh-huh.”

She laughed. “Oh, please, Dally, use some words.” His heart stopped as he watched her slowly walk towards him, like some kind of horror film. She stood in front of him, he could see her wrinkles, a closer and more magnifying look at her imperfections. She extended her old arms and wrapped them around his tensed body, he sucked in a breath at the action. He felt her whisper kindly in his ear, “You told me whether or not you were a thug is for me to decide. You’re not a thug, Dallas Winston, I can see right through that act. You’re just hurt.” She took a breath. “If you need anyone, come visit us. We’re here for you.”

She pulled back and gave one last smile before walking back to her family. Dallas felt stunned, as if he were struck by lightning. He blinked, trying to return to the moment, and left the house, releasing a breath he had been holding for much too long.

The air outside was cold, dark, it was what Dallas had always been used to, it was what he knew, what he preferred. He took his shaking hands and shoved them in his pockets, looking for a smoke. He placed the cancer stick in his mouth, trying to light it even though he was trembling greatly. He breathed in the peaceful scent of the smoke surrounding him, he was back, he was cool, he was collected, himself.

He walked along, further and further away from the Curtis house. He didn’t know where he would stay tonight, and he didn’t feel like worrying about it, but the thought continuously crept inside his mind. He didn’t want to go to his home, where his father was probably waiting for him. He was too young to go to a bar or an apartment, some people told him that he at least looked like he was sixteen. But no matter how many cigarettes he smoked to change his voice, no matter how much he ran and worked to become bigger, he was still a lost, fourteen year old boy.

He paused. A sound disrupted the cold silence of a night in Tulsa, sniffling, shivering, almost like crying but not letting any tears fall. The sound of a young boy curling up on a cold jail bed, looking at a taunting moonlight and wishing for a way to escape. The sound was almost addicting to him, he couldn’t ignore it. 

Dallas followed the sound, heard it getting louder as he got close. He found himself in a vacant lot, an old oil can was set in one corner, a dilapidated seat was in another. It was small and lonely, and Dallas saw the shadow of someone huddled in the old chair, a shivering, dark figure. Dallas tried to tell himself it was none of his business, but his interest sparked. He walked closer, the fire in the oil can showing some of the person’s features.

“Hey,” he suddenly said, impatient and tired of closing the distance.

The figure jumped, their head snapped up from their chest. Dallas knew that face, swollen, deep, puppy-eyed. It was the kid, Johnny.

“What’re you doing here, kid?” He asked.

The kid tensed. “W-what’re you doing here? W-were you lookin’ for me?”

Dallas paused, blinking a few times. “N-no, no.”

The kid looked at him for a bit. Dallas noticed that his greased hair was out of his eyes, revealing that one of them was even more swollen than his face, black and purple too. He sucked in his breath at the sight.

“Damn, a kid like you gets into fights?”

Johnny seemed to be self-aware of his eye then. He shrugged his small shoulder and let his wisps fall in front of his face again, turning away from Dallas’s sight. He huffed, “Yeh.”

Something about his response made Dallas know that that wasn’t the truth. But he didn’t push it. “You sleeping here, kid?”

“Johnny,” the boy spat silently.

Though the voice was small, Dallas heard it. He fixed his posture and stood upright, making sure he towered over the figure. “What?”

Johnny blushed and turned away. “N-nothing.” He coughed in his hand. “Yeh, I’m sleeping here.”

Dallas didn’t ask why, and he didn’t really care to know. He looked around the area, there was no other worn out chair, just cold concrete surrounding them. Still, Dallas figured if a scared kid like Johnny could survive the night so could he.

“Mind if I stay with you?”

Johnny turned to him suddenly. “W-w-why?”

Dallas scowled. “Hey, kid, I didn’t ask you why you were here so don’t you go poking around in my business.”

Johnny flinched and curled into himself more. “Sorry.” He took in a shaky breath and sighed. “Yeh, okay, I don’t mind none.”

Dallas nodded and plopped himself next to the kid. As the boy moved around to find a comfortable sleeping position, Dallas couldn’t help but notice that Darrell was right. He was thirteen, but his body sure didn’t look like it. He was small, underdeveloped, his voice still squeaky. He didn’t look thirteen at all. Or much like a boy.

Dallas sighed and curled into a position himself, resting his tired eyes. Silence formed like a thick blanket around them, with only the noise of crickets that refused to sleep. Dallas considered the sound as a sort of therapy. 

The quiet was suddenly interrupted by a soft voice letting out a hushed sound, lower than a whisper,

“Dallas?”

“Hmm?”

“Is that your name? Dallas?”

“Yeh. My friends call me Dally.”

“...”

“Call me Dally.”

“Dally?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you not tell anyone about this, I don’t like people worrying about me.”

“Alright.”

“Thank you.”

Dallas’s eyes snapped open, remembering warmth. Remembering a sickly sweet chorus. A family he could never be a part of, a place where he would never belong. “Don’t thank me, okay kid?”

“... Alright.”

 

Dallas woke up early the next morning, noticing that Johnny was still asleep. The kid’s breath came out so softly that he had to stop breathing to make sure he was still alive. He slipped on his leather jacket and set off, forgetting the kid behind him and the night before. His first stop was the convenience store, he stole a few cigarette packs while the clerk was busy flirting with a young broad with bright red lipstick and a too-short skirt. He needed another pack already. Dallas knew then that staying in Tulsa would kill him.

As he stood on a curb by the road, a weed in his chapped lips, he decided that he would enjoy taking the risk. 

 

Elvis Presley- What a Wonderful Life; Kiss Me Quick(1962)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for offensive racial slurs, and later on there may also be derogatory terms for the LGBTQ+ community, but this is Dallas Winston and Johnny Cade in the '60s


	4. Milkshakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the small hitch in the schedule. The only electronic available was gone for a while so I had to wait. I'm sorry I had to come back with this chapter, it isn't the strongest chapter and definitely my least favorite. But my favorite chapters are coming out next week so stay tuned.

“I swear one day this is gonna be big, man,” Dally said under his breath as he took a fry in two of his long, pale fingers. He dipped the crunchy potato in his cool drink of processed strawberry. He did this thing that Johnny found himself oddly attracted to where he bit his food but stuck out his tongue first, subtly but still relevant enough for him to notice, and licked the fry before bringing out sharp teeth and chomping down.

 

Relax, kick your shoes off baby… 

 

“Really?” Johnny asked in a teasing way, being playfully reluctant.

“Of course, am I ever wrong?” His voice came out muffled from all the food in his mouth. After swallowing so hard Johnny could hear it, Dally pointed a finger at the younger boy’s chest. “Milkshake and fries.” A grin played at the edge of his lips as he repeated slowly, word by word, “Gonna. Be. Big.” 

He reached over Johnny and stole a fry from the boy’s basket, dipping it into Johnny’s chocolate milkshake and doing that tongue and bite thing right in his face. 

 

Relax, here we are alone… 

 

Johnny scrunched his nose. “Don’t sound that good.”

Dally grinned. “It’s ‘cos you ain’t ever tried it, you bastard.” He took another fry, dipping it in his strawberry milkshake. “Look, try it.”

Johnny stared at the fry in front of his face covered in thick, pink liquid. He wasn’t a fan of strawberry milkshakes, he always found them too sweet, and he always ordered chocolate instead. The thought of his least favorite drink with diner food didn’t appeal to him, but he saw Dally waiting with what looked like expectation in his eyes. So he swallowed his nervous spit and leaned forward, taking the treat in his mouth.

 

Relax, let’s get cozy baby..  
Come on, let your concrete crack… 

 

Dally’s face was showered with different emotions all at once in a conflicting manner. Johnny took this almost eternal moment to gaze into his blue eyes, which seemed suddenly vulnerable and open, but not inviting. After what seemed like some thought as to what he should feel and what he should say, he let himself give a playful sneer. “Shit, kid. You couldn’t just take the damn fry? You gotta eat outta my hand like a dog?”

Johnny blushed deep red. “S-sorry, Dal-”

He grinned, interrupting him sharply but jokingly, “Don’t apologize to me, kid.” He turned away from Johnny’s gaze, leaving him cold, empty, longing for more even with the price of awkwardness and his embarrassment. “So, you like it?”

“L-like what?” Johnny asked, hating his ever-present stutter.

Dally seemed to be preventing himself from laughing out loud. “The milkshake, kid.”

“O-oh. Yeh.”

“Good,” The boy grinned. “I told you, am I ever wrong?”

Johnny bit his lip. “No, never.”

 

Cut loose, life is worth the livin’...  
When you’re givin’, come on relax… 

 

There was the option of just getting a quick bite at a drive through and simply go around town, riding as fast as the devil, but today Dally decided to back off of a promise he made to Buck’s, also known as refusing to pay his share of the rent. He had also just raced yesterday, fair and without even thinking of cheating, and earned himself a wealthy amount of money-being stubborn and staying practically glued to a 2,000 pound horse will do that to you. So with no place to go and 13 generous dollars to spend, Johnny was almost flattered to find his hero deciding to pass the time with him. 

“You think Buck’s gonna be happy when you get back tonight?” Johnny asked, trying his best to change the subject, heart desperate for the humiliation to end. He wanted the idea of milkshakes and anything physical that resembled them to be far away at this point. He pushed his large, chocolate-filled glass away. 

“Hell if I care.” Dally shrugged, taking a cigarette in his two long fingers. He sucked in the smoke, his light cheeks hollowing a bit, and blew. The sight was almost magical. “But I’m sure he won’t be. Can’t kick me out, though.”

Johnny wanted to counter with ‘it’s his house’ but didn’t. It was good so far. This was good. “You can hang out with me in the lot tonight, if you want.”

Dally paused in the middle of sucking in some smoke. As he spoke it seemed as if the words blew out of him in a fantasy-like fog. “You’re still sleeping in that shit-hole?”

Johnny blushed. “Only sometimes. Just when I feel like I’m giving Pony and his fam’ly too much.”

Dally watched him skeptically from the corner of his eye. “And why don’t you just sleep at your own house.”

Johnny tensed. He hated playing this cat and mouse game. Because Dally knew, he knew that Dally knew, and yet he still refused to say anything about his dad. And Dally refused to act out until Johnny physically admitted it to him, till the words sputtered out of his mouth like blood, but that would never happen. The both of them were equally stubborn in their own right, and that called for many moments filled with awkward silences and strained glances.

“I-um-well, it’s because-”

“Can’t think up a good lie, can ya?” The edge of his lips curled into an almost twisted smirk, he loved being right. He began to laugh sadistically. “Y’know, you can tell me everything once you reach in and take your head out of your-”

“Stop it,” Johnny interrupted harshly. He grimaced and his eyes squinted momentarily, waiting for strike he knew would never come but he couldn’t help it, that was how his body was programmed to react whenever his volume went up a few notches. He let his fingers slip around his milkshake, bringing it closer to him, the coolness melted away his heat. “Just stop, Dal. I don’t want to talk about that right now. Okay?”

Dally eyed him, a glint of heat reaching his eye, his ears burning red with the need to protest. He huffed and looked away. “Since when were you able to tell me what to do?”

“Since when were you unable to stop me?” Johnny spat under his breath. It was good. He didn’t know how it got ruined or which one them ruined it. 

Dally’s head whipped towards him. His ears seemed on the verge of bursting and it almost looked like steam was escaping the sides of his head, fuming out of his nose. He was at his breaking point, and Johnny found himself unafraid. He was used to being hit.

Instead, Dally stood up, slamming a few of those 13 bucks on the table, and stuffed shaking hands in his pockets. He took in a deep breath, and exhaled. “Okay, I’ll see ya later.”

Johnny shook his head, mostly to himself than anything. He reached out his hand and set it on Dally’s arm before he could move away. “Wait. Wait, please.”

Dally paused.

Johnny swallowed the pride in his throat, let the lump fall down all the way into oblivion. “Please don’t go. I’m sorry.”

Dally sighed, his back facing him. He shook out of his grasp. “I already told you not to apologize to me.” He smiled softly, blue eyes piercing, his gaze locking onto Johnny’s. He ruffled the younger boy’s hair, almost affectionately. “And I need to go anyways. Gotta go talk to Buck, clear my head, make sure I have a place to sleep tonight.”

Johnny nodded.

“And don’t sleep in the lot tonight, you need a place, just go to the Curtis’s.”

Johnny nodded again. He watched as Dally slowly began to slip away, lean body heading towards the exit doors of the diner. He grinned at Johnny, two long front fingers pressing against his temple as a salute. “See ya, kid.” Then he was gone. 

 

Elvis Presley- Relax(1963)


	5. Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is by far my favorite chapter that I've written, so I hope you enjoy it. I only have one completed chapter left, I'll have to work on the rest. So I'll probabaly be going a short hiatus soon. I hope you enjoy what I have so far! Stay tuned!

Dallas Winston always made sure to get what he wanted, anytime he wanted it. A life made up of complete and utter disappointment will give you that mentality. If he was in a drug store and his eyes happened to longingly lock on a pack of Kool cigarettes, he’d shove those into his pocket. Even if the cashier caught him, he’d stick up a finger to show just how much he cared and headed off, fresh weed dangling from his lips. Call his ideologies selfish, but that was just how it was in his life.

Dallas wanted Johnny Cade, plain and simple.

Dallas wanted Johnny’s doe eyes, big and wide, looking scared but were actually curious most of the time if you watched them flicker from a close enough distance. As if there were more things he didn’t know of than the things he did know of. Innocent. sweet, almost longing if you stayed around him long enough. And whenever Dallas saw that longing, deep and desperate, almost pleading, he forced himself to sit on his roaming hands and cross his legs, before he could start showing him all of the things he could know.

Dallas wanted his hands. Calloused but not rough, scarred but soft. Dainty and almost sweet looking. He wanted their warmth, their caring ways, on his hands, on his skin. Like feathers reaching the coldest depths of his body, heating him up like gentle rays of sunshine. Goodness epitomized in contact. He wanted that feeling on a cold night alone at Buck’s, or the days that he felt like sneaking into his old man’s house. He wanted his touch after he would have taken a girl, shivering from watching her sweaty body sink into the bed, like she had nothing left, like she accomplished all she needed to, but not anything that she wanted. He wanted those soft hands on him as he desperately lit cigarettes in Buck’s bathroom, the large lump of his pride in his throat stopping him from crying, from screaming.

Dallas wanted Johnny’s calm. The way that the kid shrugged and quietly went to sleep after being beaten half to death by his dad, Dallas wanted to do the same when his old man mentioned his mother or when he woke up from a nightmare and he felt the sting pound into him again and again. As rough as he seemed, Dallas didn’t have that power. He curled up on his rough bed and hugged his knees, trembling in his own flesh. Sometimes he had to bite his knuckles to stop himself from whimpering, but he never cried.

Dallas wanted his smile. Sweet, and genuine whenever he graced you with one. His stupid jokes. His hot chocolate like skin. His laugh, his beautiful laugh. He wanted his innocence, not so much as he wanted the trait for himself than he wanted to take it. He wanted to feel it, consuming him, drowning him in the knowledge that he was his first at something, like it was a sin, and Dallas was notorious for his love for sinning. Dallas knew that physical love between men was possible after his time in jail, and for years the idea made him double over and hold himself as he fought the vomit in his throat. But the thought of the boy indulged him in such a strange way, and even with his experiences he wasn’t all that turned off by it. He sometimes even wondered what it would feel like if they ever did, one day. He dreamed it would give him the familiar taste of taking that precious innocence, but it would also make him feel as if he was becoming someone new, a different person. Like Johnny’s purity would somehow transfer to him in the act, or that he wouldn’t be alone in knowing he was an abominable freak of nature. He wanted that feeling, and it kept him awake at night when the realization washed over him that he could never obtain it.

He was suddenly aware, as if someone had thrown cold water on him, that Johnny Cade was the one thing he wanted that he couldn’t get. He threw up that night, several times, and only slept for less than two hours.

He was tired the next day, tired and restless. He had avoided the gang, knowing that Johnny would be right there behind him, not knowing what he would do at the sight. So he strolled around town the whole time, glaring at anyone who eyed him funny, wishing they would do more because he was itching for a fight, his fingers were practically twitching. But the day went on mundane, and he hated it.

He was drinking at Buck’s as soon as the sun went down, and no one dared to tell him it was too early. The music played an hour in, some kind of Elvis song. Dallas’s fingers clenched tighter around his drink when he realized how much he fucking hated damn Elvis and the damn Beatles. Did no one know anyone else? Shit, what about the Rolling Stones or the Doors or someone else, even the damn Beach Boys. His mind turned to mush with every beer he downed, random worms that were thoughts made their unpleasant way in and everything was pissing him off. 

He was torn between punching or pulling into his lap the girl who took her place next to him. She was nothing different from any other trash that saddled into bars looking for ways to remind everyone that they weren’t virgens. She popped her leg just so and leaned over the counter, pale elbows strained under the weight of her big breasts that were being revealed. She wore small, leather shorts that showed the crease of her ass, and her hair was in a plain ponytail. On her arm was the mess of a tattoo that might have been the name of a man once, but it was altered to just be her’s in crippled letters. S Y L V I A.

She glanced at him with her heavily shadowed eyelids, large lashes batting occasionally. “Do you see something you like?”

 

I worked all day and my feet feel just like lead

 

Dallas took out a cigarette and lit it, sucking on the thing and blowing in her face as he spoke, “I see a whore.”

She didn’t flinch, instead she grinned and twisted so her body faced him. It wasn’t scrawny like most girls, and he found that he liked the hourglass figure with its thick legs and oversized chest, even though it jiggled sometimes. “I try my best, baby.”

 

You got my shirt tails 

Flyin’ all over the place 

 

He smirked. “Oh, darling, I’m not your baby.”

 

And the sweat poppin’ out of my head

 

At that she bit her red lips. In an act of boldness that reminded him of himself, she reached over and stole a cigarette from his pack, moving his hand to light it for her. She pulled back and winked at him, her seductive smile showing teeth on the verge of being yellow holding down a stolen weed. “I’ll be yours.”

 

She said ‘Hey, Bossa nova, baby  
Keep on a workin' child  
This ain't no time to quit’

 

They were tumbling around in Buck’s guest room in less than thirty minutes. Dallas knew he was attracted to her, but he didn’t know what kind of attraction. There was a chemistry between them somehow, something like because they were both two pieces of shits who deserved each other. A needy slut and a delinquent fag. But he liked how she felt under him. A lot of skin and not a lot of bones, something soft for once, and he wasn’t afraid of breaking her. By the way she moved, he could tell she was used to it.

He felt the frustrations pile up in his body. Johnny, jail, sick men, jail, sick men, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. He dug his nails into her back almost as hard as she did when he tried to release them. She was real loud too, and she didn’t bother holding anything back. And there was a mess of incoherent slurs and swear words going on between the two of them. The bed was real weak that night, and they were both going hard, so there was also a lot of creaking and noise seemed unavoidable at the time.

She asked him to say her name a lot, which was weird. Dallas didn’t like saying names, it made him acknowledge what was underneath him, but he went along with it. Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia. It felt like poison on his tongue, and it was a strange feeling he was almost addicted too. And he’d be lying if he didn’t say that he could very easily imagine dark skin and wide, innocent eyes and a smile from heaven, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind.  
It was over with a loud grunt from him and her blissfully sighing, with her head lazily rolling back and her long hair spilling on the pillow beneath them. He rolled over and forced himself not to vomit again, because it wasn’t bad and she wasn’t bad. He liked it. It was just the idea of it creeping up on him afterwards.

She put her sweaty hand on his equally sweaty chest and rubbed wet, sticky circles on it. She grinned with her eyes half lidded, makeup and face all greasy. “Damn, you got a lot in there, don’t you Winston?”

He didn’t hurt her, he tried to tell himself. She was happy, or at least she enjoyed it. But he was on the verge of shivering. Why did this have to always happen?

She turned to the side when he didn’t respond and yawned, stretching her thick limbs. “Don’t you go creeping out of here later, Winston. I like to leave first, okay? It’s kind of my thing.”

There was something different about her. Most girls he slept with hated the thought of being called a whore or slut, even though they were, and seemed to wonder why people had the audacity to refer to them as such. She seemed to love it, like it was who she was. And you think that would be sad, like some poor hooker on the streets trying to make money to survive, but it wasn’t, not for her. She was attracting, in a way. Like a magnet. That still didn't stop Dallas from wanting to run away.

But before he could, he thought about Johnny. About how he would feel, the noises he would make, the look on his face as he became blissfully aware that it was the end of it. He shivered softly and glanced at the sleeping girl beside him. He decided he needed a distraction in Tulsa, a replacement. And by far, she wasn’t the worst option.

 

Elvis Presley- Bossa Nova Baby(1963)


	6. Into The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is one of the chapters that I’m proud of. I feel like I could have done better in a few aspects but I still really like it. I’m currently working on the next one and we’ll see if I need to go on a hiatus. Please comment and leave kudos, they make me sooo happy!

Johnny kicked at the pebbles about the sidewalk, tiny chalked up pieces of the cracked and worn cement beneath his feet. He bit his lip as he walked on in the silence, ignoring the slight sting of it. His whole life he had either been called a nuisance or a mistake, and he couldn’t disprove the evidence provided for each word. Those weren’t the worst insults, all things considered, and they weren't the only ones, but they were the ones he understood the most. He understood them when he was sitting on a couch with other people’s parents fretting over him, he understood them when he ate food that he knew wasn’t cooked for him, he understood them when the shooting pain of a drunken fist clubbed his back.

He was stupid for thinking that Dally thought he was anything other than all he had been his whole life. He finally understood that when he saw him locking lips with the same girl he had been with for the past two weeks, which were essentially two weeks of abandonment in Johnny’s opinion. The most he obtained from his idol since then was a curt nod or a ‘hey kid’ before he slung his arms around a curvy broad and they went off together into whatever sunset they were making for themselves.

 

_Anyone could want you for his own_

 

A strange feeling erupted in Johnny’s stomach whenever he saw them dance, one that he couldn’t comprehend. He held her close, very close, not even an inch separating their two bodies. Each movement between them was fluid as they went about with the music. Once upon a time Dally used those hips to imitate an Elvis move as he conquered a dance all by himself, sweating and rough but not even caring the slightest bit that no one else stood beside him, sometimes he asked Johnny to join him, but that never occured. Now those hips grinded into hers, as if they were doing it right there in front of everyone. Her arms slipped around his neck and her body seemed limp at times in his grasp, he took control of how they moved, like one with the music. Hips bucking into one another, legs entangled, sometimes his head would lower from hers, down and down and down until Johnny was sure that they were doing more than just dancing. Other times they were eye to eye, looking at each other with a fierceness that seemed to defy even the sinful yet passionate way they captured each other’s mouths and tongues. Sometimes he was at her neck, nipping, biting, and she moaned as if they were alone.

Johnny would only watch them and drink his beer, wincing at each taste. 

 

_Anyone not only mine alone_   
_Anyone could fall in love with you_

 

And on the worst days, he asked himself what’s so special about her? Whenever the petty words entered his mind he shivered, and preferred the taste of alcohol on his tongue rather than the thoughts in his brain. One time he got so drunk he woke up the next day blacked out and grateful for the lack of remaining, spiteful memories, despite the raging headache pounding behind his forehead. 

Johnny brought his gaze up to the sky, seeing the way the colors melded together. Light blue colliding with a vibrant pink, a bright orange sun descending below his field of vision, giving the dilapidating houses of the shallow town he lived in a silhouette, ebony shadow against a fading sunset. It was getting dark.

He could imagine Dally at Buck’s, where he left him. He didn’t like the feeling that rose in his throat like vomit as he saw them kissing and touching in front of everyone so he made the decision to leave. He didn’t bother saying goodbye because he had the deep premonition that Dally just didn’t care. His world shattered just a bit when he realized that. That Dally didn’t care anymore. That maybe he never did.

Johnny wasn’t much of a cryer. There was too much to cry about in his opinion, and he’d just be wasting tears if he let them flow at every single thing. Best to bottle them up and wait until the right moment, the time where it feels like everything, everything, is crumbling. But right now, at the curb of the sidewalk, he could feel the wetness in his eyes. He pressed his palms to them and tried to will the sadness, or any palpable symbolism of it, to go away. But it stayed.

“You fuckin’ pansy,” he cursed. “Stop crying, dammit.”

It wasn’t working. He decided to lean back on the side of his house and wait for it to finish. It shook him more than he thought it would. So bad that he had to sit on the dirt and hug his knees and bite his lips to keep himself from sobbing. His body was trembling, it was summer. He didn’t know how to stop, he didn’t know what would make him stop. He just waited until he felt like he could walk, like he could think, like his eyes could be focused on something other than the tears. And then he waited some more time until he couldn’t feel burning. If his parents saw red eyes they would either think it was drugs or crying, he’d be equally punished for either option.

Johnny felt like he spent hours by the side of the house, but it all finished eventually. He dusted himself off and rubbed his face one more time, just in case. Then he went inside his house, hoping that the door opening didn’t make too much noise. He didn’t think it was too late, not to the point where his folks would get mad. But lately, it seemed like they could get mad at every little thing. It made him resent them sometimes, and he hated that feeling.

“Johnny?”

_Shit_. He wished he had his own wrist watch, or a personal time teller. Something that could scream at him: It’s six o’ clock! His father would recently get pissed at everything he did. He’d be pissed if Johnny came home too early or too late, if he left the house too early or too late, if he did or didn’t do this. So Johnny made the elaborate plan to leave the house before his father left for work and then to come home before he returned and then sneak out to the lot once he went out for his midnight drink. Today he had messed up his schedule. 

“Yeh, dad?”

He saw his father come out of the kitchen, a beer bottle in his fingers. He hadn’t even gone off to the bar yet and he was already getting pickled. 

“Where you been?” he slurred, his eyes gave a deadly glare.

Johnny licked his lips. “Out. With friends.”

“Friends?” His father scoffed.

“Those no good delinquents,” His mother huffed as she exited the kitchen. She had a glass of red wine in her hands, occasionally taking sips as she made her way to the couch. She sat down and gave Johnny a subtle glare.

“Those hoods?” His father asked.

“They’re not hoods,” Johnny said desperately.

Both of his parents silenced suddenly. His father raised his eyebrow and his lips twisted. His voice scratched like a growl when he spoke. “You talkin’ back to me?”

Johnny vigorously shook his head. “No, no I was-”

“Shut up!” His father spat and neared him. Johnny noticed how dangerous their proximity was. His father reminded him of a wild animal sometimes, the best thing you could do as he approached you was stay still and hope he forgot about you. That was never usually the case. Johnny only sucked in his breath as he walked closer and closer.

“Why do you do this to us?” His father asked.

Johnny swallowed and stammered, “I-uh-I don’t-”

He felt his face twist and his cheek painfully heat up, the sound of a slap hit his ears. He stayed in his position, turned to the side and eyes wide, he was too fearful to move. He could feel his father’s shadow over him, looming like a ghost.

“You just want to humiliate us. Hurt us. You’re so ungrateful,” he snarled. “You don’t even know half the shit we’ve done for.” He reached out a grabbed Johnny’s face with his hand, Johnny involuntarily turned to meet his father’s eyes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, bitch.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said, softly like a whisper. Cracked, like a sob.

They were both face to face for some time. Only staring into each other’s eyes and saying nothing. The gaze of his father burned, the heat stretched to every corner of his body and made him tremble. He tried his best to rid of any tangible signs of his fear. His shaking, his quick breathing, his tears. He tried to suck them up into his body, keep everything still for a second. Let his mind be fogged, distracted. Maybe to the point where he wasn’t in his house, his father wasn’t in front of him, he wasn’t himself.

He felt himself be dragged into his room, a biting grip on his arm. He bit his lip and tried to ignore the pain. He was thrown into the emptiness and the door slammed shut. He could feel the presence of his father behind him.

“Pull your pants down,” he ordered. 

Immediately after he did what he was told, Johnny viciously dug his nails into his palms. He heard the clink of a belt being undone and shut his eyes. He felt the sting of a whip and dug harder, another and dug harder, another and dug harder. Bent over and kept himself up on the bed. Thanked God he didn’t have to count. Thanked God that he could potentially escape. Tried to. Thought real hard. Thought of food, thought of friends, thought of warmth. Thought of anything but the burning of his ass and his father shouting and his chest tightening more and more and more.

Thought of Dally. Felt guilty. So guilty. That hurt him more than he thought it would.

But he already cried today. He already cried today, can’t do it again. He already cried today. He already cried today. He already cried today.

There was blood in places. It smelled fresh, it tickled his nose. He thought of that, too.

“Get up.”

Johnny wobbled as he tried to regain his composure. It was difficult to stand, his legs were so close to giving up and caving in. His father looked him straight in the eyes, his stare was cold and emotionless. 

“God, you’re so pathetic.”

Johnny didn’t know how to tell him that he already knew that, that he completely agreed.

It was nine o’ clock by the time his father left. For some reason the old man made the choice to stick around for a while. Johnny waited patiently in his room, hugging his knees to his chest, pressing his hand against his cheek to stop the bleeding. His vision was clouded, and his ears stopped ringing after a while. He perked up when he heard the front door shut and immediately ran to his door. He opened it slightly and watched his mother in the living room. She seemed so drunk and immersed in whatever was on the T.V. He closed the door and made his way to his window. 

He opened it as quietly as possible and slipped through it, carefully shutting it after he landed on the grass outside. He then shoved his hands into his pockets and headed off, intent on going to the lot. He hunched and kept his head low, avoiding any eye contact and making sure no one noticed him. He did his best to appear as invisible and insignificant as a shadow.

On his way to the lot, he passed Buck’s. He imagined Dally in there, grinding against Sylvia, placing wet kisses on her neck. That same sick feeling overcame him, it compounded on how shitty he already felt and gave him the urge to throw up. He sped by and quickened his pace, now desperate for his safe spot.

When he got there, the sight he saw wasn’t comforting, it only helped sicken him. He stopped in his tracks and forgot how to breathe momentarily.

“Hey, kid. You bailed on me so early.”

Johnny stayed where he was, not daring to move any closer. Not daring to let Dally see the bruises. His old man had been too drunk to remember not to go for the face.

“I thought you were with Sylvia,” he said, nervously licking his lips.

“I’m not always with her.” Johnny could see Dally’s smile from the distance. It was warm. He had forgotten how that felt. “What’re you doing all the way over there?”

“Why are you here?” Johnny asked suddenly, ignoring the previous question.

Dally seemed taken aback by his words. “I wanted to see you.”

“You haven’t wanted to see me in weeks, _why are you here_?”

Dally raised his eyebrows. He did that thing where he straightened his back and crossed his arms and then glared. It was his “I’m tired of the bullshitting” stance, his immediate resort if he felt the need to intimidate you. “What the hell’s your problem, kid?”

Johnny was too pissed off to be afraid, he was too exhausted to cry. All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep and hopefully forget that he lived in the life that he did. He just shrugged Dally’s comment away and turned his head to the side. “Dal, just leave.”

The older boy didn’t move. The confusion in his eyes didn’t translate to the rest of his face, but it was there. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, uncharacteristically speechless, but he never changed his menacing posture. After a silent moment of staring in puzzlement, he unhooked his arms and strolled over to Johnny at a brisk pace.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you-”

Johnny noticed him nearing and stepped back as quick as a reflex. He held his hands up involuntarily. “Dal, just get back, go away-”

Dally didn’t relent. “What the hell’s going on, tell me-”

Johnny was practically sprinting backwards, trying his best to find the shadows that would hide his face. “Dal, leave me alone-ah!”

He tripped over his own feet. For real, this time. He wondered if he could use that as a shitty excuse for the bruises.

“Kid,” Dally exclaimed. He kneeled next to Johnny who was lying on the ground, arm still covering his face. “Jesus, are you alright?”

“Please leave,” Johnny choked out desperately. He couldn’t see Dally’s reaction but he could feel the loss of his heat as he backed away.

“Johnny, what happened?”

He shook his head. “I really just wanna be left alone.”

Everything was still for a moment. Dally made no moves or sound and Johnny refused to move from his position. They sat quietly for a while, the world stilled around them. Then Dally took in a sharp breath and yanked Johnny’s arm from his face, bringing them closer in the process. Johnny found himself suddenly exposed and he saw Dally’s expression change as realization washed over him. His face opened in surprise and then twisted and then softened and seemed to repeat the exact same cycle over and over again, like he couldn’t choose what to feel or what emotion to make transparent.

“Goddammit,” he said.

Johnny pulled away when he felt the other boy’s grip loosen. “It’s nothin’, Dal. Trust me.”

“What did he do to you?” He asked solemnly.

Johnny had never heard someone speak with such pain in their voice, especially regarding him. It made him feel sick. It was a horrible day and it felt like vomit was creeping up his throat and inverting his stomach.

“Dal, please, leave it alone-”

Dally stood, harshly adjusting his jacket and collar as he walked. Johnny followed him. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder. “The Curtis’s, someone’s got to know-”

“No!”

Dally froze and turned. Johnny rushed forward and nearly grabbed him. “Look at me, Dal. You can’t tell the Curtis’s. You can’t tell nobody.”

He almost laughed. “What do you mean? You want me to just sit aroun’ and do nothing? You’re lucky I’m not heading over to kick that bastard’s ass-”

“Dal, just stop!” Johnny pleaded. “Look, you have to promise me you won’t do anything, alright?”

“What? You mean the right thing?”

“Don’t act stupid! I just can’t have you messin’ things up, alright?”

Dally looked as if he had just been slapped in the face. “You can’t have me messing things up?”

“Dal, don’t act like this-”

“You can’t have me- _me_ -messing things up! I’m trying to save you-”

“It won’t do anything-”

“I’m trying to get you outta that shit-”

“You’re not listening to me!”

“You’re not listening to common sense!”

“Fine then!” Johnny threw his hands up, eyes watering but tears refusing to spill. He already cried enough today. “Fine, Dal. Then what’ll happen?! What if you told the Curtis’s? Then what’re they gonna do? Tell the cops and get my folks arrested and then what’s gonna happen to me? Am I gonna live with them? How would they feed me? What would they do? You know damn well, Dal, that they got enough issues with feeding their own damn kids, why do they need another mouth? Where else could I go? An orphanage? I’m fourteen, Dal-”

“I know but-”

“No, you don’t!” He screamed, his throat hurt. “No, you don’t know!”

“But, Johnny-”

“But what? Nothing you can do will make anything better! Beating them up won’t and telling people won’t and getting me out won’t! ‘Cos no one can take care of me and I can’t take care of my own damn self, Dal, I’m helpless.” Johnny took in a shaky breath and sighed. “And you know what? It may sound stupid, I know it does, but I still love them. They’ve done a lot for me. They’re just going through a rough patch right now.”

“That is stupid,” Dally said coldly. “Makes no goddamn sense.”

“I don’t expect you to understand but that’s just how I feel, okay? I love them. I don’t need them to love me back, I don’t think they do. I don’t think anyone does. But I love anyways, I can’t stop it.”

Dally shook his head. “That’s bullshit, Johnny. C’mon, you gotta know that people love you.”

He shrugged. “I say it, I don’t believe it. But I try, Dal.”

“I know,” Dally nodded. “I know.” He licked his lips. “Look, kid, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so mad and fired up. It’s not your fault, I just-God, I’m sorry.”

Johnny shook his head and gave a meek grin. “Know what, Dal? You’re such a hypocrite. You always tell me not to apologize.”

Dally laughed softly, it was so forced, so cracked. “Yeah, well, I don’t deserve it, kid. You do. You deserve everything, you know that?”

Johnny didn’t pretend that he did. “No, not really.”

“Well, you deserve a lot. Trust me.”

A silence followed. And either of them may have said something, but the words were so quiet that not even the tranquility could make it known. They both stared at each other or the ground or played with their hair or did nothing. They just existed for a moment.

“I have to go,” Dally said suddenly, there was a strangeness to his tone. Low, melancholy. Like pity, or guilt. He kicked his leg awkwardly. “I have to go, Sylvia. She’s waiting for me at Buck’s.”

Jonny felt an invisible punch in the gut. It made him temporarily lose his breath, lose his consciousness. When he remembered himself he just nodded. “Yeh, alright.”

Dally bit his lip, Johnny didn’t need that specific attention to be brought to them. It made him feel worse. “Yeah, but, can-can you promise me something?”

Johnny perked up. “What?”

“Go to the Curtis’s, alright? I mean, don’t leave your house, don’t tell them, but stay there tonight. Please, or I’ll be up all night worrying about you.”

Johnny smiled. “C’mon, Dal, don’t waste time thinking about me.”

He only shrugged. “Can’t help it.”

His day had been a rollercoaster. The cart had been hovering at the top, just waiting and waiting for something to happen. And this was it, this was the push. It was rushing down the tracks at full speed and going through loops and defying all laws of gravity. There were twists and turns interrupting the steady beat of Johnny’s heart, now it went all over the place.

_He thinks about me…_

_Does he think about me when he’s with Sylvia?_

“Alright, kid,” Dally said. He began to walk away, it took all the strength in Johnny’s body not to reach out and keep him still, to shower him with questions, to demand answers. Dally did the same salute thing with his fingers and turned his back. “See ya later.”

Johnny stood there. Forgetting the promises, forgetting the bruises, forgetting the day. The only memory in his mind was of Dally. Dally thinking about him. Dally not being able to help himself from thinking about him. Dally liking to think about him.

And then it became dangerous. It became obscene. The world darkened around Johnny, his heart was tugged in a million different directions. The implications of his thoughts were too much to bear. He quickly headed to his worn out chair and sat there, putting his head in his hands and focusing only on his breath. He tried to get his mind to shut up for a while.

Dally was just his idol.

He was a fear, but he was also a god.

He worshipped him.

He loved him, but he loved a lot of people.

He loved Pony, he loved Darry, he loved Soda, he loved his parents, the gang.

He loved a lot of people.

He loved a lot.

But Johnny had thrown the word ‘love’ around so much that he couldn’t distinguish one feeling from another, he didn’t know what could be distinguished. He didn’t know if the butterflies in his stomach were the same as the warmth in his head he felt around family, around friends, or different. All his life his emotions had been so simple, he couldn’t tell why they suddenly seemed so complicated.

But when he thought about it…

When he thought really hard and connected all of the puzzle pieces together… 

His body finally allowed him to throw up.

 

_And I love you my darling_

 

Elvis Presley- Anyone(Could Fall in Love With You)(1963)


	7. Fire and Brimstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is another chapter that I really enjoy here. I've been told that my story doesn't really show the sweet, fluffy side to Johnny and Dally, mostly their struggles. And that is a good thing and that is my intention, but I also want to showcase some good aspects of their relationship. And I realized this is the best moment they've had together so far throughout this fic, there's no angsty ending in this chapter. And maybe it's an apology for the unnecessary sadness of the previous chapter. Anyhoo, enjoy. Also please go read The Book of Gold, I just read the first chapter and it updates every month, but honestly it's so freaking good already. If anything deserves kudos, it's that fanfic.

Dallas had forgotten how beautiful Johnny Cade was.

He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but that beauty enveloped everything about him and made him impossible to dislike. Dallas wondered what monster you had to be in order to beat something so wholesome. The thought shook him almost as much as his uncontrollable need of the younger boy.

 

_May this tenderness cling_

_When the fire of Spring_

_Is a memory_

 

So he decided to ignore the feeling of Johnny sitting beside him on the park bench and instead focused on the cigarette in between his fingers.

“How do ya feel, Dal?” Johnny said suddenly. Dallas loved the pleasant feeling Johnny’s voice gave him, he had missed that feeling for weeks and realized that sex with Sylvia would never replace the joy he could get from their simple small-talk.

Dallas blew out some smoke. “What do you mean?”

“Well, your girlfriend cheated on you.”

He laughed. “Damn, kid, you really love bringing that up, don’t you?”

Johnny’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

Dallas playfully punched Johnny on his shoulder. “Kid, trust me, I don’t care.” He smiled and rolled his shoulders. “I’m just a little pissed, I guess. I mean, I didn’t even cheat on her. She was, well, I think she was my first girlfriend.”

Johnny almost choked on his weed. “You’re first girlfriend?”

Dallas’s lips twitched up in a smirk. “I’m not a virgin, but yeah. I’ve never been in an actual-uh-relationship.” He didn’t notice how embarrassing his words were until he said them out loud. He scratched his ears as a way to discreetly hide his blush.

“Oh, Dal, you don’t have to be embarrassed about that-”

Dallas burned bright red. “I’m not em-”

“I mean, look at me,” Johnny said. “I’ve never had a girlfriend. I’ve never even kissed anybody. That’s pathetic.”

“It’s not that pathetic.”

Johnny turned to him with a bright, contagious grin. “Dal, I can see you smiling.”

“It’s not that pathetic,” Dallas repeated. “But you should get to fixing that.”

“It’s not like I haven’t tried!” Johnny defended. Then he seemed to curl in on himself and squinted his eyes. “I think.”

 

_But if it can’t be_

 

They were both silent after that comment. Dallas tried his best not to think about the implications of what he said or else some obscene things would enter his mind. He distracted himself by putting out his cigarette and immediately lighting up another one.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Johnny said.

“Whatever,” Dallas grumbled. “I’m going to hell anyways.”

Johnny seemed to contemplate over those words and silently kicked his legs, if he were any shorter he’d barely be able to touch the ground. “You believe in that kind of stuff, Dal?”

“What kind of stuff?”

Johnny shrugged. “Heaven, hell.” He turned to Dallas with wide eyes. “God, you know?”

“Why’re you asking?”

“Well, I’m just thinking,” Johnny said, smiling softly. If Dallas had any less of a guard he’d fall right in love with that smile. He’d sink into it and wrap it around his body like a warm blanket. That smile was his comfort, it made him feel safe. “Do you?”

“I don’t know,” Dallas said nonchalantly. “Seems kind of stupid to me.”

“Oh,” Johnny breathed. “I think it’s nice.”

“Nice?”

“Like… comforting, you know?”

“I guess. I think it’s nice to think of life after death. Like, you never really die. And you get happy after.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said brightly. “Like even if we die, the gang and us can be together in heaven and all.”

 

_Give this moment to me_

_While our dream is bright_  

_Put your sweet arms around me_

 

Dallas chuckled bitterly. “Heaven ain’t a place for me, kid. That’s all you.”

“What do you mean?” He asked in amusing surprise.

“Well,” Dallas bit his lip and fiddled with the cigarette in his hands. He hated when he fidgeted. “Hell’s for the bad people, ya know. Heaven’s for the good people.” He cupped his hands in front of his face as he sucked on his weed, trying to hide his red face. “People like you.”

Johnny watched him for a minute, eyes wide and sweet. A color in them that reminded Dallas of chocolate. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Dallas scoffed softly. “Course that’s how it works. You got the sinners, you got the angels.”

“Well, I think it’s more gray there.” Johnny said back. “‘Cause you’re a good person.” Dallas could feel his ears burn. His tongue didn’t have the strength to interrupt or protest. “I know you are. I mean, I think you can do a few bad things and still be a good person, you know. You’re good. When I read about heroes, I always think of you.”

Maybe Dallas forgot how to breathe. Maybe his heart forgot how to beat. The world around them was poised, almost waiting for his next words, for his next exhale. His brain short circuited and it took a few drags from his cancer stick to get him to speak. “I’m no hero.”

“You are to me, Dal.”

 

_Love me tonight_

_Let me feel your lips on mine_

 

If he was a girl, Dallas thought, this would be flirting. If he were a girl he’d wink and flirt and talk in a low voice and pull him in. If he was a girl they wouldn’t just be sitting and smoking on this park bench. Dallas threw his head back and sighed, holding a hand down under his leg, he saw that Johnny noticed the action.

“I bet if I ever go to heaven, you’ll be there with me,” Johnny said.

“You going to heaven is a given, you’re going,” Dallas shrugged. “That’s it, it’s final.” 

“Well, so are you.” He did that little grin again, the sweet one. The one Dallas liked to call ‘the heartstopper’. 

These were the moments, the small ones, the short ones, that Dallas wished could last forever. A second with Johnny could make him forget a lifetime. He liked to imagine that he could hold Johnny’s hand, pull him closer, let him lean on his chest. Even the thought was pleasant, in these moments it wasn’t bitter or a slap of harsh reality. It was almost the cherry on top to an already perfect feeling. The flutter inside of him, in his stomach. It wasn’t sickening. Not right here, not with him.

The scary part was that in these moments, it was almost too easy for the forbidden words to escape Dallas’s lips. Every look, every movement had to be filtered and censored.

“You’ve always admired the bad people,” Dallas said.

Johnny shook his head. “You’re not one of them.”

“...”

“Trust me.”

Their hands were too close. Their fingers could have touched if one of them moved just a few inches. Just the smallest step. The slightest bit of bravery. The lack of fear. Ignoring the possibility of rejection. Dallas’ heart was thundering in his chest.

The words were too easy to say.

“I think heaven’s a perfect place for everyone.” Johnny reminded Dallas of a child, often. It was difficult not to smile whenever he was around.

“Maybe your heaven, I’d like to go to your heaven.” 

Johnny turned to him and grinned. “Then let’s go, Dal. Just you and me.”

 

_Love me tonight_

 

Too easy to say. 

 

 

Elvis Presley- Love Me Tonight(1963)


	8. Sticks and Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter I feel neutral about, I wrote it all entirely on my phone and I never feel professional on my phone. But it didn't turn out too bad, maybe the pacing could have been better. Anyways, we're nearing the end and I'm excited for more chapters, I might take a hiatus soon though. Please leave kudos and comments! And make sure to check out The Book of Gold on archive just cuz it's so good!

Every time Dally went to jail an evil voice in Johnny's head told him he'd never come back.

It happened more often than he'd like. Every  brief moment of bliss spent together would be followed by the news, each revelation as helpless and crippling as it was the first time. He wondered if Dally would ever stop, if he ever got tired. And in certain moments the temptation to ask him if it all was worth it was so strong, so overwhelming. But he'd always bite his tongue. Because Johnny had the pestering fear that maybe this is the life Dally chose, the life he wanted. That doing crime and getting locked up never mattered because he had nothing to lose, nothing to care about. In moments like those, Johnny was sure he wasn't on Dally's list. He was sure he was an annoying, replaceable person in his idol's life. And that's why the cooler was more appealing to the hood than quiet moments filled with mindless stargazing. 

He'd gotten locked up again, and that voice crawled up the back of Johnny's neck with hideously large nails and reeking breath. What if this was the time he never came back? He was such a vagabond, why would he ever want to stay?

When Johnny had learned about it, he threw up in secret. He couldn't sleep for the next few nights. He tried his best to hide his vomit scented clothes and bags of exhaustion under his eyes, but some days his efforts seemed to be made in vain. He couldn't seem to function whenever Dally got into these types of messes. It didn't take long for everyone to connect some of the dots.

A few days after the news broke of Dally's arrest, Steve clamped his hand on Johnny's shoulder and said, "C'mon man, we're going out!"

Johnny looked up at him in puzzlement. "Where?"

"Out." He repeated dumbly. "Don't worry about it, I'll be taking care of you."

Darry had overheard them and immediately interfered. "Steve, you better not be going out and doing something stupid."

Steve rolled his eyes and whined, "He's fifteen, man! And I'll be with him the whole time. Nothing bad'll happen, trust me."

Darry only shook his head. "Remember, I'm responsible for all ya'll. You get him in trouble, I'll be the one paying for it."

Steve only ignored him and Johnny chose not to protest. Maybe this is what he needed, a distraction. He had never considered the option all the other times. He wasn’t very fond of rowdy and crowded places, but the disturbance could be a better change of scenery for him. A little discomfort sprinkled in his life to take his mind off of certain things.

Steve and Johnny grabbed some burgers and then headed off. Johnny found himself in an unknown bar, one he had never been to before. Well, it was more of a club than anything. He wondered if this was the place Soda and Steve would go to hang out. He wondered what other places his friends visited to relieve their stress. He hadn’t really cared about them in so long. 

They settled down on a barstool. Steve held up a pair of fingers and hollered, “Two beers!” The bartender didn’t seem to care that they were underage. Steve smirked and winked. “I come here often, he knows me.”

That reminded him of Dally. Johnny took in a deep scent of the place and realized this all reminded him of Dally. It oozed his persona. It looked like him. It sounded like him. It smelled like him. A glance and he was filled with him. The jukebox was playing Elvis. Dally hated Elvis, but he knew all of his songs when they came on the radio. Johnny was around him so often that he knew all the songs too.

“Steve, you got a quarter?” Johnny asked.

“Yeh, sure.” Steve reached into his jean pocket and pulled a coin out. Johnny took it with a grateful grin and followed the music until it got louder and louder.

It boomed from the jukebox. Johnny felt like he could feel Elvis smiling through his voice. He didn’t want to smile back. He took the quarter in two, tanned fingers that refused to stop shaking and entered it into the slot, immediately beginning to flip through the records. He saw some Kinks songs, he liked the Kinks. And a song from Simon and Garfunkle. He could hear Dally breathing down his neck, telling him that Simon and Garfunkle’s songs were trash meant for Socs.

Johnny really liked their music, but he didn’t want to ruin anybody’s night so he put on You Really Got Me Goin’. 

“I like the Kinks.” 

Johnny immediately tensed up. The hairs on his neck stood.

He felt a hand reach over and touch his shoulder, he glanced at it. The nails were long, pale, vibrant red. He turned tentatively to face Sylvia. She smiled viciously through her blood lips. Her hair was loose and sailed over the top of her body like a lion’s mane, it was wild and untamed. Like her. Like Dally.

 

_Yeah, you really got me now_

“Hey,” She said flirtatiously. She let her tongue sail over her top lip. Maybe she was trying to be sexy. Johnny’s indifference to her seduction made him feel even worse than the existence of their conversation.

Her voice was low and raspy, like a cat. “I didn’t know you came around here.”

Johnny opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He decided to look away and stare at the jukebox, wait for her to take her hands off of him, wait for her to get tired of him.

She giggled, it was almost sweet. “You’re cute. Like a little puppy.” Her fingers crawled up to his head, tangling in his hair and curling and curling and curling. The touch was like Dally’s but more intentional, more restless. He fought a shiver as her lips hovered by his ear, grazing against his skin as she whispered. “I like dogs, I think I like you.”

Johnny couldn’t find the strength to pull away. He just breathed out, “Dally’s in jail.”

He could feel her scowl without seeing it. “I know he is. I don’t care he’s always there.” Her grasp on his curls never relented. “We’re not together.”

“Right now,” Johnny said. A hint of poison on his tongue. Sylvia seemed to like his attitude, it seemed to spur her to take even more action.

“You’re really stiff.” She pressed her body closer to his. “And not in a good way.”

Johnny gulped.

She roamed his face, his neck, his chest, turning him around and taking his shoulders. “Let me ease some of that tension.”

He finally pulled away. “I’m fine.” He still refused to meet her gaze, it was too intense, too predatory. “Dally’ll be looking for you when he comes out.”

She scoffed, finally showing a hint of exasperation. “He ain’t gonna come out. One day he’ll get in and he’ll never leave, this might as well be that time.” Her fingers found his hair once again. “I’m fine with that. I ain’t all about him, I don’t care all about him.” Her tone rose slightly. “Why’re you always talkin’ about him?”

Johnny shook his head. “I’m not-”

“Let’s forget him,” she interrupted. He felt himself being pulled, his back met her chest. Her arms wrapped around him. “You know, puppy, ever since I was young I’ve always liked the bad boys.”

“...”

“You’re not bad, though.” A smile crept into her words, it wasn’t genuine. “I like you.”

His body was a tight knot, the feeling compounded in his stomach with every word. He was tense, tense, tense.

“What about you? You like bad guys?”

His heart beat at an unfeasible rhythm.

“You must, you like him, don’t you? It’s okay, we all do.”

It wasn’t going down. His thoughts wouldn’t shut up. They yelled, they screamed. She knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows-

Who else knows? He asked himself in a sudden anxiety.

He didn’t even know until a while ago.

“Maybe we can change that,” she said, caressing his hair, brushing his bare skin. “It doesn’t have to be that way, you know? It doesn’t always have to be him, it doesn’t always have to be bad.”

He breathed. He found that his chest and hers moved at the same time. He wondered if their hearts were beating at the same pace.

_You got me so I don't know what I'm doin' now_

“You ever wonder if your life could be different, puppy? If you could be someone that you weren’t?”

He said nothing. But his mind was screaming: yes. It was begging him to turn around and embrace her, to see if they could exist at the same time. Together. He found himself longing for a connection that radiated off of her, he felt an energy he had never known was there before. It was desperate and longing. It reminded him of himself.

It reminded him of the quiet moments he spent with Dally. Moments where he knew they were the same, moments when the pedestal was nonexistent. 

He wanted to tell her yes. Maybe he was going to.

“Sylvia,” Steve scowled.

Her grasp on Johnny never relented, she might have even squeezed tighter. She looked to Steve innocently, playing dumb. “Hi, Steve.”

“Get the fuck off him.”

She chuckled. “I didn’t know he was your property.”

Steve edged closer to them, his stance suddenly menacing. Johnny had never seen him like that before. “Get the fuck off him or I will take you out and tear you apart, slut.”

Johnny nearly jumped in her arms. “Steve-”

“Johnny, don’t say anything!” Steve snapped. “I’m really disappointed in you, I never thought you’d do this to Dallas.”

“But Steve-”

“Stop it! You know what you’re doing!” He yelled. The bar didn’t seem to quiet down, it didn’t care that a screaming match was happening by the jukebox. That the Kinks weren’t loud enough. Johnny caved in on himself, which was right in the arms of Sylvia, she didn’t leave.

She laughed behind him. “Sticks and stones, puppy.” She held up her arms and walked away. “I hope we can hang out some other time, though.” He watched as she moved in front of him, sauntering past Steve. Looking back once to wink.

It didn’t have any effect on him. But maybe she knew that already.

Johnny turned to Steve, seeing his pale skin flush a bright red in anger. He had never seen a member of the gang so aggrieved at him, he had never done anything wrong to deserve their resentment. But then he thought of the implications of his previous actions, of his body being so close to Sylvia's, her breasts touching his back. The implications of this happening all while Dally was sitting in a jail cell.

Johnny felt a deep shame punch him in his gut. "Steve-"

"Don't," he held a stiff and uninviting hand up to cut him off. Then he messaged the bridge of his nose, squished his face in annoyance. "I just didn't think you'd ever do something like this. Not to Dally. You know how he is, John."

He did know how Dally was, and he knew how he was when it came to Sylvia. Dally could spend hours watching her grind on another man, someone even weaker than him maybe. And he would just shrug and drink his beer. Maybe he'd get drunk and break up with her, but she'd be waking up from his bedsheets the next morning. Her cheating never fazed him, and he never reciprocated her actions. Maybe it was because he never really liked her. Maybe it was because he loved her.

But a random guy and his friend were two different situations.

"I'll have to tell him, you know?"

The back of Johnny's neck burned. There was a sudden dip in the current that was his stomach. That dreaded vomit crept back up his throat, but he didn't have the heart to stop Steve.

"I just don't know how he'll react," Steve ran trembling fingers through his hair.

Johnny didn't know either. He silently thought back to all the times he had pissed his idol off. Thought hard and concentrated on the small moments his fists would clench and his jaw would tighten. The moments his face would turn red, the moments he was sure his heart would be broken.

All moments were different and insignificant, not anything like what he had done with Sylvia. But still, never once did Dally look like he wanted to hit him. Or if he did, he never acted out on it.

It gave Johnny the small hope that maybe he wouldn't mind so much. Maybe he meant something to him too.

"Jesus, if he does something to ya and Darry finds out-"

"Steve, its fine," Johnny breathes out. "I'm sorry."

Steve glanced up at him and shook his head solemnly. "I'm not the one you should be saying that to."

 

Dally came out of jail soon enough. The dread that he would stay there forever was soon replaced by another one. Johnny heard the news and found himself waiting, fingers itching, for Dally to come out of nowhere and beat him into the ground. He couldn't sleep that night in the lot, he kept on looking over his shoulder to see if he was there, hands balled into fists, ready to kill him.

The next day when he went over to the Curtis's, Dally still wasn't there. Johnny's eyes happened to find Steve's. A question was present in them, and Steve nodded his head slowly. Johnny knew that Steve had told him.

A day or two passed and still he was nowhere to be found. Johnny realized that an absent Dally was even worse than an angry, violent one. He wanted him around, even if it meant he had to be yelled at. Even if it cost him his dignity. 

His fears were forgotten once a calloused hand caught his hair and shook it. Rough, playfully.

Johnny turned up from his worn out chair to see Dally, smiling. It was tight and awkward, but present. "Hey, kid."

He stopped himself from pulling him into a hug, instead standing up and shoving his suddenly restless hands into his pockets. "Dal, where have you been?"

He shrugged. "Just out." His hand landed on the small of Johnny's back, sparks flew throughout his entire body. "C'mon, let's go somewhere."

He didn't mention Sylvia. Not once throughout the entire night.

A week after Dally's release, Johnny saw her as he was walking downtown. She was at a crossroad, leaning against a light, her hair flowing behind her. Sunglasses were covering her eyes. She noticed him staring at her and lifted them to the top of her head, smiling and waving.

Johnny almost waved back before he noticed it.

Her black eye.

 

_You really got me_

 

The Kinks- You Really Got Me(1964)


	9. Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters where I'm kind of wishy-washy about. It has good moments, it has bad moments. But I think overall it's fairly good. So maybe that hiatus will be coming soon or maybe not at all, but I managed to crack this one out in time. We're getting closer and closer to the end so stick by, and please check out The Book of Gold, its first chapter is better than anything I've ever written.

Dallas knows that he’ll never forget how that knock on his door sounded. He’ll never forget the time of the day or the gray clouds that rolled over the sky, forbidding light from touching any familiar corner. It was so dark the shadows didn't have the heart to come out of hiding.

And then there was the dread in his stomach. The constant dipping, the back and forth motions that made him want to heave out his breakfast. Pessimism had defined him for all of his life, and every day he was filled with the premonition that something bad was going to happen, something potentially life-ruining. But that expectation was heightened with a dirty anxiety crawling up his neck and breathing into his brain and punching him over and over in the gut, screaming 'something bad is gonna happen, something bad is gonna happen, something bad is gonna happen.'

He tried to shrug it all off with indifference and let himself go back to bed, see if maybe he needed to sleep in or have an afternoon nap. He tried to stop glancing at the clock, tried to convince himself to do something. But he was fidgeting already and his leg was bouncing and his hands were shaking and his stomach was too dry to handle a cigarette. So in the end he was a chaotic mess who sat at the edge of his bed and couldn't lay down.

Then there was the knock at the door. Pounding, almost melancholy in its tone, almost desperate in its beat. It made him jump and it made his heart sink all the way to the floor, maybe even farther below. And when he opened it with a trembling twist and a pull the sight of Johnny didn't help him.

Because Johnny never came to his room, Johnny never could make it to the staircase past the living room at Buck's place. Johnny never sought Dallas out, never would dare to. He didn't have the courage, he didn't have the heart. 

And Johnny would never allow himself to stand in front of Dallas like that. Shaken like he'd seen a ghost, body rocking like a junkie, bawling his eyes out like he never bothered to have any dignity. And that's what gave Dallas the balls to reach out, to touch his shoulder as a quiet way of asking him to come closer. Johnny accepted the offer and melted into him, let their bodies intertwine in one sick, sad mess. His small arms trapped him in an embrace so strong, Dallas almost forgot that he needed to breathe.

In any other situation, he was sure that he wouldn't be able to control himself. But supernaturally, Dallas found the strength to push his fingers into Johnny's hair, maybe not the strength to stop himself from enjoying the sensation, and pull his sobbing head back. His eyes were red and wrecked and his lips were quivering with no intention to stop. Maybe that's when Dallas realized that this wasn't a fantasy, this wasn't the time to think obscenely.

This was the time to ask, "Johnnycakes, what happened?"

Johnny let out some heart wrenching noise and shook his head and buried himself into Dallas's chest. Dallas pulled him back again, hands firmly on his two shoulders, and looked straight into his puffy eyes. "What happened?"

"M-Mr. and-" he choked on a sound, lifted his palm up to his runny nose, "Mrs. Curtis, they-" he broke again, planting his face into his hands. Dallas tried his best to settle him, but he could feel his heart racing, feel himself break out into a sweat. The dots were connecting in his mind and he couldn't figure out a good outcome.

"A car," Johnny made out through his crying. "And the road was icy and… and-" that was it, the brink, the realization maybe. Up to that point, he seemed to have somewhat of a control on himself, but that was when he let himself fall, let himself lose all the care all the dignity all the weight. He was suddenly an incoherent blob of sobs and sounds and wailing and pain. The sight could pierce through any type of ice, it was the strongest conviction in the world.

And Dallas didn't need to hear anymore, he didn't need to see anymore. He held Johnny in his arms and let him turn his brain on for a final second, just one last moment to click. To remember Mrs. Curtis and her cooking and her smile and her laughter, the way she let herself care and talk and give, how she would bail Dallas out and say this is our little secret and this is the last time. But she would always forgive, and her kindness never abandoned her, not once. And her spirit, the eternity it possessed, the youth, how pure it was, how gold.

And Mr. Curtis. The love he had. Strong but overprotective but firm but never relenting, for his wife for his children. Everything he did he did for family, no matter how good no matter how bad. And the heart he held and would always hold for his wife, she was his little piece of forever, you could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her.

And they were both dead. It happened, with both of them. Together.

Once Dallas let his brain turn off and allowed himself not to think he was overcome in a way more powerful than he had ever remembered himself feeling in his entire life. And the only words he could manage to say were, "My God."

 

The funeral was poor and quiet. They barely had enough money to afford the two gravestones, and other pleasantries were unimaginable and unattainable. There was only the burial, a few words said by an apathetic pastor, and the somber meeting at Darry's house that would follow. Dallas had felt depressed his entire life, but this was the first time he felt completely engulfed in it. There was no escape, no other way to look, no options or future. It was just two dead people in the ground and they weren't ever coming back.

Mrs. Curtis's spirit was the most tangible thing in the world, and life suddenly felt empty with its absence.

Ponyboy sobbed the entire time, clutching onto Soda like he was his lifeline. And Soda was shaking, his knuckles turned white with their tight grasp on Pony's shoulders, his face was streaked with rivers of tears. Darry only stood there, composed, shut down. Looking eerily reminiscent of his father. A tough shell that rarely opened to let some joy escape.

Dallas remembered the conversation the two had had a week back, when the news was a fresh wound, bleeding all over the vacant house. 

It was just them in the kitchen, Johnny was crying with Ponyboy, Soda was with Steve, and Two-Bit sat on the couch with his head in his hands, ignoring the rest of the world. The impact on all of them was strong and undeniable. But Darry was standing still, face frozen, eyes wide in a shock that refused to go away. There were no tears, just the lack of acceptance. Lingering denial.

"They're really gone aren't they?" He whispered softly.

Dallas only looked up at him, their eyes didn't meet. Darry was focused on the window outside, observing the rain as it fell softly.

Darry didn't get an answer, it didn't even seem like he really wanted one. He just shook his head, as if trying to rid of the entire situation. His body trembled lightly and he turned on the stove and scrambled around the kitchen for plates and utensils.

"What are you doing?" Dallas asked.

Darry licked his lips, insanity flashed in his eyes. "We're all gonna be hungry soon, someone's gotta make dinner."

"Darry-"

He began to ramble, speaking fast and tripping over his tongue uncharacteristically, "Someone's gotta make dinner, cuz then what? Mom ain't here to do anything, dad ain't either. Who's gonna take care of the boys? Me cuz I'm the oldest and the most mature and I gotta do everything now. I gotta be mom and dad, cuz they're not here to be mom and dad anymore. I have to do it all and make sure everyone is fine and I gotta be fine to do that. I gotta be the strong one now, can't break. If I break then what's gonna happen? Where will we be? Mom and dad can't solve our problems anymore-"

"Darry, c'mon. Stop."

"No, I can't stop!" He shouted, waving his arms wildly, spoons and knives were clutched in his hands. "It's all up to me now! I can't fall apart, because then I'll lose even more! They'll lose even more! Because who else? No one else, it's just me! I'm all they have now! I'm all I have! I've gotta do it!"

Two-Bit had made his way off of the couch and was suddenly behind Dallas, inching towards Darry who was still ranting and near screaming and his hair was messed up for the first time in years. He reached out his hand. "Darry-"

"No, Keith!" He pointed his knife to him, trying to hold him back. His eyes were starting to water, and that seemed to push him even further. "No I can't do this! I don't got the time anymore, I don't got the par-" he suddenly let go of everything in his hand and collapsed on the floor, becoming a heap of heaving and sobbing and weeping. Two-Bit immediately leaned down and took him into his arms, bringing them close together and soothing him as he cried. Dallas felt the urge to join him but his feet were glued to their spot. He just watched them awkwardly with a guilty conscience and walked over to the stove, turned it off and, after sometime, left the house. Left everything, found a quiet spot that he could fill with some insignificant crying, some curses to a God he didn't believe in.

But his dignity wouldn't allow him to shed a wall in front of anyone, even at the funeral. He made a point to be even more stoic than Darry. Johnny was at his side, grabbing onto his arm, and translating any emotion that he internally felt with some quiet sobs.

Once they all returned home that night, Dallas found out that he could feel colors. And he was flooded, overcome, with gray. It defined every person, every perspective in the house and, suddenly, him. Ponyboy left to his room and Johnny followed after him, the door slammed shut behind them. Darry got up to make some dinner, it had become some kind of therapy to him, and him and Two-Bit cracked a few worthless jokes to each other, trying their best to sprinkle a little bit of normal into this new life.

They all sat down to eat, Ponyboy stayed in his room. Johnny revealed himself once throughout the night only to shake his head and mumble with a cracked voice that they wouldn't be eating. Darry nodded and made sure to save some food for the two of them.

"He's gotta eat sometime," he said under his breath.

It seemed everyone refused to leave the house, but Dallas felt like he would suffocate if he let himself stay a moment longer. He managed to get a hold of Johnny before he left, make him an offer in vain.

"Want me to walk you home?"

Johnny looked up at him with wide eyes and slowly shook his head, managing a small smile. "I'll stay with Ponyboy, tonight."

Dallas scratched behind his ear. "Alright."

"You know he needs me right now, Dal."

"I know," he said a little too firmly, a little too defensively.

"..."

He reached out to ruffle his hair but then immediately withdrew the touch. "Just make sure you take care of yourself too."

"Alright," he licked his lips nervously. "Do you think things will ever get back to normal?"

He forced a grin. "'Course it will. This is a family right, y'all keep on believing in heaven and I think you'll be just fine."


	10. Rollercoasters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm back! Alright, this is another one written on my phone, so I'm uncertain with a lot of the quality but I still really like it. Major warning, all of my other talks of suicide so far have been more implied and quiet but this one is really graphic and potentially triggering. If anyone has suggestions on how I can improve my writing of suicidal thoughts, be free to tell me. We don't all have the same experiences, and though I draw inspiration from what I've personally gone through I know this is a character who needs a lot of more careful attention regarding that. Anyways, please enjoy and PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS THEY GIVE ME LIFE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so if any of you have been reading my summaries then you'll know that I planned on going on hiatus for a while. And now that school started, I'll be having more sporadic updating schedules. So I want promise that it will be every Wednesday anymore, but I will be updating.

Johnny didn’t get to spend a lot of time with his family. After the death of Mr. and Mrs. Curtis, he told everyone about the beatings, they reacted just as he expected them to. He was hardly allowed to go home and found himself practically living at the Curtis’s house. He would take showers there, eat there, dress up in Ponyboy’s clothes, it was like he found a new life. And the boys seemed to appreciate the distraction that he brought them, like maybe he took their minds off of more stressful things.

He rarely went to his own house, just slipped in and out of it like a shadow. He expected his parents to be a little more worried, or at the very least pissed. They weren’t, and he hated the rock of disappointment that filled his stomach at that.

But there was a day where Johnny was making a visit home. He was hoping to just grab some clothes and then disappear like he had never stepped foot inside of the place at all, but then he heard his mother's voice. She called his name and he jumped at the sound. She was standing in the hallway, looking desperate and surprisingly sober. But not for long, a bottle of wine was clutched in her hands.

“Yeah, mom?” He asked.

A little bit of distress flashed in her eyes, and he knew it was genuine. “Can you stay for a bit?”

 

An ‘I Love Lucy’ marathon was playing on TV, it was the episode where she stuffed cherries into her mouth and her hat, Johnny recognized it from his childhood. He sat next to his mom on their worn-out couch, immediately noticing how close their bodies were to each other. It made him want to get up and walk away, it made him want to move closer to her and lay his head on her chest.

“Wine?” She asked after some time, her voice was bubbly and cracked from laughing hysterically.

He smiled and shook his head.

She rolled her eyes. “C’mon! You’re a kid, have some fun.” She pushed the bottle into his hands, sitting back and waiting patiently for him to drink it. When he did, her face lit up like a house on Christmas. “There you go!”

He tried to smile again but the wine pooled out of his lips and that made him laugh which made even more wine go spewing in different directions. She had to have thought that was the funniest thing ever because she was cackling and clutching her stomach and tears were falling down her face. When she calmed down, she took the bottle from him and brought it to her mouth, taking one big gulp.

“We don’t do this anymore, do we?” She asked sitting up and hugging her legs. 

He fought the urge to shake his head and forced his tongue to move. “No, not really.”

“We should,” her voice had a rise to it that made his heart clench. “We really should. I’ve been missing you, Johnny. I feel like you’re a ghost. For a while, I was afraid you were mute.”

He chuckled softly, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling a tremendous weight of pain every time he looked at her. It was all a sudden reminder of how long it had been since he felt like she cared. He was so convinced that she hated him, that she wanted him gone from her life. And even though he was face to face with something that proved him wrong, he couldn’t forget the deep loneliness and longing and yearning that had plagued him for years after she seemed to erase him from her conscious. For the first time, he almost felt like blaming her, like getting mad at her. But he was too desperate for this moment to last, to drag it out as long as he possibly could. 

“I was afraid of that too, mom.”

Her smile melted any grudge that might have been stained on his heart. She reached out and took her hand in his. It made him feel bold, empowered, so he decided to shift around and lay against her, feeling the most secure he had ever felt in his life when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. Then she planted a kiss on his forehead. He almost sighed in content, he almost sobbed in desperation. 

This is what he had been missing for so long. That contact, that touch, the one that didn’t make him flinch. Maybe no one in his life kissed his head and held his hand and pressed his back against their chests because every outstretched palm looked like a threat to him, something to avoid. But his heart wasn’t bursting out of his chest right there, at least not in fear. Maybe he wasn’t as scared and repulsed by touch as he thought he was, maybe this was the remedy he needed.

He imagined the feeling with his friends, his other family, people who were there for him when his parents weren’t. He imagined the feeling with Dallas.

Not even such an obscene thought could change how high he was on that couch. It was hard not to sigh, not to let out that breath he had been holding for years and years and years and years.

"Why, Johnny?" She said silently, a spark in her tone ripped through the peace of the moment, Johnny could feel it bring sudden tension in his shoulders. "Why haven't you been around the house?"

He didn't know what to say, didn't know if he should even answer. He didn't have the nerve to give life to the words forming in his head: I thought it was obvious.

In the end, what he resented most about his mother, if he had to resent anything at all, was that she was so oblivious, so trapped in her bottles of wine, that the outside world her son and husband survived in didn't seem to be reality to her. It didn't match with whatever drunken idea she fantasized about in her head, so she ignored anything she didn't like or agree with or understand. Like her husband beating her son, she ignored it so much that maybe the bruises didn't even exist. Maybe they were never there.

So in her mind, Johnny had no reason not to be participating in the building of her fictional life. He wasn't living with her in her childhood princess castle and maybe just now she woke up enough to realize she didn't like that.

He just shrugged, looking for some vain way to appease her that couldn't be found in words. 

Her fingers began to thread through his hair in meticulous precision, a feeling so unreal it had to be some sort of magic. He felt himself slowly falling for the spell. "You've been hanging out with those hoods again, haven't you?"

A disgusted rock settled in the pit of his stomach, but it didn't give him the heart to pull away. He just stayed glued to her and let out a shallow breath. "You know they need me right now, mom. Especially Ponyboy. It's a really hard time for them."

Her nails sunk deeper, but didn't lose their relaxation and ease. Her voice grew colder. "It's already been a few months, though."

"Two," Johnny said. "And it ain't so easy to get over, it's tough. Not something a month or two can fix."

She huffed silently, tugging on his scalp. "You talk like she was your mother."

"Well she-" Johnny sucked in a breath. His heart began to pound in that sort of way, making him feel like when you're on a rollercoaster and you're plunging. And you're going down, down, down and for a split second you think you're going to fall because your entire body feels weightless like it's floating on air and seconds away from the ground. It's that fear, but it doesn't go away. It stays and hammers and makes you want to go cry and scream all at once. Johnny put his hand over his chest and moved away from his mother. "She meant a lot to me too, mom."

He turned and got a glimpse of her face, it was so repulsed, so shocked, so aghast. Like she'd seen a ghost or heard him curse in church. Like he swore on God's name and was about to be struck by lightning at any moment, or like she was about to be struck by lightning. Her eyebrows furrowed and her voice turned into stone, like the booze kicked in and she was already building her walls again. "She didn't raise you Johnny."

He swallowed his spit nervously. "Well, sometimes-"

"Sometimes what?" Her voice raised. "Are you telling me she did when I know that you're my baby and I raised you and that woman hasn't done nothing for you that I haven't. What has she done for you?"

Johnny shook his head and hunched his shoulders. "I don't know."

"No, you know, what has she done for you? You better tell me, right now. I want an honest to God answer."

He felt himself begin to shake. That roller coaster feeling touched every area of his  body, tingled through his skin. "She let me stay at her house-"

"I never once kicked you out, never. That was your choice." Her hands were clenched into fists, one was coiled tightly around the bottle of wine. She breathed deep through her nose. "What else?"

"Mom, there ain't nothing else-"

"Tell me!" She ordered. 

Johnny felt his body shake. "Mom, I'm sorry. There ain't nothing else. I don't know. I don't know anything. I just said it. I'm stupid."

"Don't talk to me like that," she spat. "Don't talk to me like I'm your father, I ain't your father."

"..."

"I don't beat you or kick you out of the house or call you names, I ain't him. So why do you hate me?"

Johnny's head immediately shot up and he shook it desperately. "No, mom, I don't hate you-"

"Yes, you do," her voice began to crack. "You hate me like you hate him and I ain't done nothing to you-"

"Mom, I don't hate him either. I don't hate y'all, I promise."

"I've done everything for you," she sobbed. Johnny noticed how small and vulnerable she looked, so open and needy. It made him tremble even more. "I don't know what else I can do for you, you're so ungrateful. You and your father."

"Mom," Johnny tried to soothe her. "Mom, I'm grateful, I'm sorry-"

"But you're not," she said. "You're not and I've done everything for you. I gave up my entire life for you and that psycho! Nothing I do makes you happy, absolutely nothing. You hate me!" He'd interject constantly and tried to convince her otherwise but she was too loud and when he reached out to touch her she began to thrash around. "No, don't touch me! Look at you! You're crying 'cos you know it's true, Johnny. You're an ungrateful son who appreciates nothing I've done for you, you'd rather have another mother, that Mrs. Curtis bitch-"

"Mom, please-"

"No, you listen now! You're always getting pissed at me and running off 'cos I tell you not to hang out with those delinquents. You don't think I know who they are, what they do? Johnny, I married one of them! Let him get me pregnant and tell me he was gonna be the best daddy and treat me like the world ain't ever treated me before, and look where the fuck I am now! I'm a drunk with a son who hates me and a husband who beats shit up when he's tired! And you hate me 'cos I don't defend you, 'cos you don't think I know. I know! I see everything, you don't think I tried? When I say something or breathe or do something he doesn't like, I'm always taking it for you! If it's not you then it's me, Johnny. Whenever you leave the house and he gets pissed you think he just forgets? No, it's me! I been taking the blows for you ever since it started and you never saw that! And now you're hanging out with those kids, kids who are gonna grow up to be just like him, kids who are gonna make you be just like him! I want more than that for you! I want you to be smart and good and not get a girl pregnant at sixteen and spend the rest of your life raising a stupid kid and having to drink away all the fucking headaches he gives you! But you can't fucking see that!"

 Johnny was a mess right there, even more than his mother. His stomach was a complete carnival ride, dipping and looping and never stopping. But he was always in the air, always feeling like he was going to fall. And he was just waiting and waiting and waiting for it to happen. Everyday he wanted it to end, everyday he begged for a miracle to make him believe otherwise.

Sometimes those blessings came in small fragments. Dally sharing a cigarette with him, Ponyboy helping him with his homework, Darry laughing at a joke for the first time in months, Two-Bit making the joke, Dally brushing his hand against his for a second and then pretending like it never happened. Nothing to stop the roller coaster, but something to keep him grounded for a second, make him feel like there was an end to some of the worst things in life.

But his house was a fucking suicide bomb. Every look and scent and corner was a voice begging him to jump, to dive head first into the cracks. The furniture whispered that it was forever, there was no possible way for it to end, and he had no control over it. But he did. He had control over one fucking thing in his entire life.

If he really tried, he could stop it all. He could stop the rollercoaster. He had the ultimate power. And it would feel so good to know there was nothing else to be scared of.

The thing is, outside of the house he had a thing called a future. A big, vast, empty space that called out to him and told him there was so, so much more. Inside the house it was a claustrophobic mess caving in on him second by second by second. It would suffocate him first, so in the end, he could choose how he wanted to go. He could either reach the dead end or end it before he even got to that point.

It was so seductive sometimes to think about a world without hate or worry. It wasn't really a world, though. It wasn't really anything. It was black and void and nothingness. But, Jesus, even though he wouldn't be able to feel it, that calm was so appealing.

That silence, tranquility, option of escape from this shithole was better than his mother taking a breath then screaming then drinking then repeating. Much better.

It wasn't revenge. It wasn't to hurt people. It wasn't to make a statement. It was just something that crossed his mind from time to time, or all the time.

He wished he had a lifeline, something to hang onto. Like maybe he could convince himself he would be so dearly missed. But he couldn't. And it made him feel selfish but he couldn't believe it when anyone told him that they loved him or needed him.

He really only needed two people to say that. Two people to tell him that they wanted him. That's all he needed and then he'd stop thinking and then he'd make his own peace and then he'd be fine.

Shit. Three people.

He needed three people.

But none of them would ever fucking say it. 


	11. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like in the bottom 3, I really don't like it. But you're getting your monthly content now. There's also many slurs in this chapter, it's in Dally's perspective, so just know it's not my personal thoughts on homosexuality or women. I just don't think Dally is or hangs out with the most morally well off people. Please excuse typos or bad writing.

Dallas found that he didn't have a lot going on in his life other than Johnny Cade. In the past few months, the kid had suddenly become the center of all his attention.  He was more important than Sylvia, more important than his friends, and more important than himself.  Well, to be fair he had been always so egregiously needed by Dallas, but it recently felt like that need had become more transparent.  Like maybe if Dallas wasn't more careful, Johnny could find out.

 But the fear and self-awareness never stopped Dallas from visiting him and talking to him and spending all his free time with him.  He found that he had never been so bold around Johnny before, but he still kept up a wall to make sure he wasn't obvious. He still made sure the in the end, he was still Dallas Winston. Because the words were too easy to say.

 And every moment he felt that the facade was too exhausting for him to keep up,  he decided to drop it momentarily and spend his time more like he should. Every once in a while he would take his breaks, let himself breathe for a second and not think about chocolate eyes or skin or hands.

   Those breaks would be spent at Buck's, with whoever was there to entertain him.  Sometimes that would be Sylvia, sometimes that would be some other girl, and sometimes that would be Tim Shepherd himself.

Like that night, when they were both drinking themselves to the verge of insanity. They both had beer bottles in their hands and were howling to the roof, cracking insignificant jokes that didn’t even bother to lift their hearts. Tim’s girl had just dumped him the day before, and he went hiding all night like a pansy, doing whatever to stop anyone from noticing how hurt he actually was. Dallas had caught Sylvia in bed with some other guy that morning, he hated the hope he felt when he found her. Like it meant something for him, like he could morally make a move or whatever. So he avoided Johnny to make sure that feeling went away, slept with the first girl he saw and then made plans to spend the day with Shepard.

And now they were at a point where the chaos mutually consumed them. They had been sprinkling it all over Tulsa and now they were sprinkling it at Buck’s, almost daring him to ask them to quiet down because they were both desperate for a fight. 

But all they could do for now was throw slurs on their exes. 

“Fucking bicth,” Tim would say.

“Skanky tramp,” Dallas would say.

Then Tim added for the both of them, “All pussies are useless, worthless sluts who ain’t good for nothin’ but sex and they can’t even do that right.”

Dallas laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world and Tim slapped his back.

Tim tipped his head back to drink and then asked, “What are girls good for anyway? They ain’t funny, they ain’t smart, they can’t fight ‘cause they’re scared of everything. And they always fake it and act like we can’t tell.”

“They fake it for you.”

“No,” Tim corrected with a finger. “They always fake it.”

Dallas chuckled. “You just don’t know how to fuck right.”

Tim guffawed and swung at him with a lazy fist, even as drunk as he was Dallas could dodge it. “Then go ahead and teach me how to do it right, Winston.”

“Faggot!”

They both choked on their beer and practically died of laughter. They were holding onto each other and their sides and their chairs and still felt like they had no balance to stand or no air to breathe. They went on acting like this night was the pinnacle of their existence, like all they had to live for was this moment drinking with each other.

“No, man, but I’m serious,” Tim said after he had calmed down. His beer was on the table and his hands were running through his hair. “Girls are useless, they don’t do nothin’ for anyone.”

Dallas shrugged. “You’re not too wrong.”

“Ain’t even good at sex.”

He smiled. “That’s ‘cause you sleep with the ugly girls.”

“I sleep with all kinds of girls!” Tim said defensively. “They just do nothin’ for me. I don’t feel anything.”

“Well, that’s you.” Dallas took another sip of his beer.

“C’mon, Dal. You can’t be always havin’ good sex and always be havin’ a good time. You’re always going back to Sylvia and you hate that bitch.”

“She’s good in bed.”

“Not that good,” Tim scoffed.

Dallas raised an eyebrow. “Have you slept with her?”

“She’s a skank, everyone’s slept with her.”

He took a moment to think about that then rolled his shoulders and went back to his beer. He leaned back and asked Buck for some playing cards.

“You really don’t care about that?” Tim asked in astonishment.

“No, ‘cause she does sleep with everyone.”

“She’s your girlfriend!”

“Not right now.”

“So you don’t care about her,” Tim said, like he was making a point. “If you cared about her you’d be mad. And you only care about people who make you feel something. So she must not be making you feel anything.”

Dallas got some playing cards and began to shuffle them. He pursed his lips and felt his forehead crease. “I mean, I guess. I don’t understand what you’re trying to say here.”

Tim sighed and collapsed, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t either.”

Dallas took notice and forced himself to say something about it. “Man, that girl really messed you up.”

Tim shot his head up and shook it. “No, she didn’t! And that’s why I’m so confused. Shouldn’t I care? I mean, my dad loved my mom and he was a hood. It ain’t like you can’t be hard and be in love. And I’ve been with so many girls and my folks met back when they were kids.”

“You haven’t been with that many girls, Tim.”

Tim shot him a look. “Dal, I’m serious.”

Dallas almost slammed the cards on the table, this conversation was giving him a serious headache and he didn’t know why. He just wanted it to end, or he wanted to be too drunk too care about it. “I don’t get why you’re so worried about it.”

“I’m not,” Tim said. “And that’s what gets me worried.”

Dallas felt his throat get thick. He didn’t bother saying anything else.

“I feel like I’ve been thinking about the wrong things lately.”

“What wrong things?”

Tim bit his bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

 

Buck kicked them out of his house an hour later. They were too drunk to do anything about it, so the two of them sat outside and bummed a smoke. Tim hadn’t continued pushing his conversation from earlier and Dallas was thankful for that, but when he took in a deep breath and kept the cigarette in his fingers Dallas could already tell those words were gonna come back to haunt him.

“Ever think of giving up on them?”

“On who?” Dallas asked.

“Girls.”

It felt like someone got a spoon and was scooping out all the guts in his stomach. It became an empty, hollow mess in a matter of seconds. Dallas just shook his head in annoyance and stole the cancer stick from Tim. “What do you mean?”

Tim shrugged. “Like, no more girls. No more sex with them, no more dating them, no more talking to them.”

“What about your sister?”

Tim smiled. “She’s barely a girl, trust me, Winston.

He reached out and took the weed, Dallas watched him and then looked back up at the sky. It reminded him of Johnny, stargazing like that. Johnny told him one night that he was going to learn four constellations, and Dallas was going to be the first one he told. “I don’t know, man, that’s kind of weird to think about. There’s no point.”

“There’s no point in girls, no point in dating, no point in sex.”

He managed a nervous laugh. “So what are you saying? No more sex for the rest of your life.”

Tim almost whispered his next words. “I never said that. I said no more sex with girls.”

 

All

Dallas

Could

Think

Was:

Oh my God.

 

“Jesus, Tim.”

Tim didn’t seem to notice Dallas panicking beside him. He just looked at the cigarette in between his fingers, studied it like there was some kind of science to find, like it was an alien. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “It’s kind of funny, sharing a cigarette like this. It’s like you’re kissing.”

“Tim, I think you’re really drunk-”

“Have you ever kissed a guy?”

“Tim, you don’t know what you’re saying-”

“Have you?” Tim pressed, there was a sense of urgency in his eyes.

Dallas licked his lips but didn’t answer, Tim noticed them immediately.

“I haven’t.”

“...”

“I think I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

“Well, I don’t want to,” Dallas said, suddenly finding courage. “Tim, you’re drunk. You should go home.”

“How do you know if you’ve never tried?” He asked, unrelenting. 

“Tim, if you know what’s good for you then you would go-”

 

He kissed him.

 

Right there.

 

Right outside of Buck’s.

 

In the light.

 

Where literally anyone, fucking anyone, could see them.

 

And he didn’t ask Dallas.

 

And he wasn’t Johnny.

 

Dallas pushed him away and punched him, square in the face. Tim stumbled backwards and looked up at him with wild eyes, like he didn’t know why Dallas would ever dare to do that. 

“What are you crazy?!” He yelled.

Dallas shook his head, shook his whole body really, felt every inch of himself heat up, felt tears push and push at his eyes, felt a sting pound inside of him over and over again. “Am I crazy?! You’re the one who kissed me, you fucking faggot!”

Tim massaged his jaw. “I was just curious.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you were!” Dallas felt like striding up to him and beating him to the ground but his body was begging him to run, to run away to someplace no one could touch him or see him or hear him. “Jesus Christ!”

He turned on his heels and was ready to sprint when he heard Tim call, “Dal, wait! Don’t tell anyone-”

He looked over his shoulder and practically screamed, “I won’t.” He kept on walking and kept on cursing to himself, mentally begging that the scene wouldn’t replay in his mind. But it did, and his entire body felt it. The look on Tim’s eyes as he drew closer, the feeling of his lips, how their hips touched for a second, a moment to remind him what was going on. And the sting, never relenting. Never going away.

So he walked on and on and on and on, and he pleaded and cried and begged to forget but he couldn't and years worth of memories suddenly flooded him. It was all consuming him, he was too busy drowning to breathe. He needed to lay down, rest, regain his breath and just be still. Like Johnny, Johnny who could close his eyes and stay in place for so long you could barely tell if he was alive or not.

And in moments like these, moments where he wanted to be Johnny, Dallas just had to see him.

So he stumbled through an alley or two just hoping to get a glimpse of him. Maybe he wasn't with the Curtis's tonight, maybe he wasn't at his parents, maybe he was in that kind of mood where he felt like he was a burden to everybody. Dallas, despite being absolutely pickled, miraculously made it to the lot, only tripping over himself once. He felt filled with intent, overriding all of the fear he was once consumed by. He walked onwards, clumsily, to that worn out chair. Its dilapidation was illuminated by a meek fire, and he could see Johnny's small features framed it the light. 

"Johnny," he breathed out hoarsely. 

He turned around, rubbing his tired eyes. They were always tired, and sad, and droopy. But they were gorgeous, and so meaningful. A smile cracked on his face, the heart stopper, Dallas felt the attack even in his drunken stupor. "Dal, what're you doing here?"

"Nothin'," he slurred, inching closer to where Johnny sat. "Just-" 

He held onto the chair to stop his fall, and immediately began to laugh. He felt his heart clench suddenly and the need to cry.

Johnny gave out a nervous chuckle. "You're really drunk tonight, Dal."

"Yeah."

"Here." Electricity shot all around his body when Johnny put his hands on him, and he didn't feel guilty this time. It was so pleasant, so warm, the feeling of his soft palm right under his arm, lifting him up, touching his shoulder. He wanted to lay back and sigh. "I can take you back to Buck's."

Dallas felt his throat tighten. "No!"

Johnny pulled away, a little taken aback. His hands found each other and he immediately began to fidget. "Oh, okay. You can stay here tonight with me if you want?"

Dallas nodded, he didn't feel like that was the right thing to do though. So he shook his head and then mumbled something and then grabbed Johnny's shoulders. It was like a new life overcame him when he did that, his entire body was set aflame. His lips felt numb but he managed to say, "Alright."

"Okay." There was a tremble in Johnny's voice, it made Dallas look at him. He was shaking a little bit and fear flashed in his eyes for a few seconds, he didn't know why. He didn't know what was so scary.

He felt his hands move involuntarily, over Johnny's shoulders, down his arms, back up again. They squeezed and shifted and made gentle circle motions, like he was massaging him. He doubted it was any good or likable but he didn't want to stop, it felt so good just to be able to touch him.

"Dal?"

"Yeah."

His mind was absolute mush, all there was was Johnny's body in his hands, like clay that he could shape, something he could touch to his heart's content. It was there, sprawled out, close enough to breathe in. He took advantage of it, feeling overwhelmed in its golden sensation. It was Johnny, it was him.

And that was just his body, Dallas didn't even dare to look at his face. When he did, all he could see was his lips. So pink and round and perfect and there. They weren't chapped or ugly or predatory. They were slightly parted, they looked so soft. Dallas felt himself touch them, and he practically melted.

"Dal?"

The way Johnny's mouth moved under his thumb felt like a sin, he loved it so fucking much. "Say something else."

"What?"

"Jesus," he cursed under his breath, it came out in a  puff. Everything was getting so hot, so wet, he was touching Johnny's lips, his arm, his shoulder. They were so close, they could kiss if he just took a step closer. One more step. No more fear.

It was so easy to do. The words were so easy to say.

"Dal, I don't you're thinking clearly."

That snapped him back into a semi-reality. Enough to make him realize it wasn't just him and Johnny's body in an infinite space. "What?"

"You're really drunk," Johnny said. He looked so scared, so unhappy. "I think you should go home."

"Home?"

"Yes, home."

"Oh," he said so suddenly, like he just woke up from a dream. Then his eyebrows furrowed and he said it again. "Oh."

It all kind of dawned on him, the entirety of the night flashed through his mind in a single second. And he fell through the ground, into a black hole, into a pit of despair.

Johnny wasn't even there anymore, it was just him and a whole bunch of nothingness. Pure black, surrounding him on all sides. He needed to hide, he needed to go away. Away from a smile, away from any moonlight.  

All he could say then was: "I'm sorry."

It came out so softly, so desperately.

He turned around, avoided Johnny's eyes, and he just ran. 


	12. Disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay it's short but it means a lot, or I think it does. Truth be told, the last three chapters will probably be a bit shorter, especially the last one. Now, I know I have very sporadic updates and a big part of that I can't control, I'm a busy gal, but I'm very invested in these chapters, they are extremely important and essential to the story. Or at least I think so. Even if they're short, they have the most meaning out of all the previous chapters and I hope you enjoy them-and in case you haven't noticed, the last few chapters have been following a storyline, they're not random vignettes. I hope you like this chapter, because I certainly do. AND PLEASE COMMENT AND LEAVE YOUR THOUGHTS THEY MEAN SO MUCH TO ME ESPECIALLY SINCE THE STORY'S ALMOST OVER!

Dally would disappear sometimes, that’s just who he was-a shadow, a mystery. And that wasn’t a surprise to anyone, especially not to Johnny. And whenever he was gone, Johnny would like to count the days of his absence, he’d tally them in his mind. He could say, with absolute certainty, that Dally would never be gone for longer than a week-two, at the most. 

That was when he wasn’t arrested, and it was impossible not to know when Dallas Winston got locked up. Everybody in Tulsa, the greasers and the Socs, knew close to everything about him. He was everyone’s fascination, kind of like a universal drug. And soon enough, the news would reach Johnny’s ears and he’d find himself having another thing to stress over.

And whenever Dally wasn’t with him, Johnny felt something deep inside of him shut off. And he’d wonder if he would ever come back, and he’d wonder if Dal thought of him half as much as Johnny thought of Dal. If he even cared half as much.

Because right now, Dally wasn’t arrested. As far as Johnny knew, he was still living life large and roaming the streets like normal. And the gang would have told him by now if anything dangerous had happened to him. But it had already been three weeks since he had last seen Dally. Three weeks that were dangerously close to becoming a month.

Wherever he was, it was everywhere but with Johnny. Because everytime he would enter a bar or a club or the Curtis house the first thing he’d hear was, “Oh, you just missed Dally.”

Just missed him, by a slither of a second. Over and over again. For three weeks.

It was a lot more suspicious than he’d like to think, really, he didn’t want to think about it at all. Because that’s when the thoughts crept up on him-like a dangerous drug spreading its scent all over his body. And he’d drown in that feeling if he wasn’t careful, it was just darkness and darkness and darkness. Like actual water, like an actual pool of emotions he was stuck in. It was this deep place he’d find himself in whenever he allowed himself to think, and it was hard but he tried to shut his mind up as much as he could.

Because when he turned it on, all he could think of was how much Dally hated him. He hated him and he wanted to get rid of him and he was avoiding him. Purposefully. He wasn’t ever “just missing him,” he was running away every time he got a glimpse of him. Any place, any thing was better than being around him.

And Dal wasn’t the only person who thought that way, so did his parents, so did the gang, maybe even Pony sometimes. But he was the person who mattered the most, and that thought never hit Johnny the way it did when he was gone. 

And Johnny would like to think that even though he never said anything, even though his emotions were hardly ever brought into the light, Dally had to know. He had to know how much Johnny cared. Hell, there were moments when he was basically professing his love without saying the words. Dally had to know what he meant to Johnny.

He wouldn’t do this to him. He knows how much this means to him. He couldn’t.

Johnny wished he could just cleanse his mind sometimes. Another thing he hated to think about was that night, the last time he had seen Dally. The lot, where the weak fire was shining a light on   
his face-so soft, so relaxed. And his hands were so gentle, they were touching him. Not imaginary either, they were real and touching him and running against his skin and his lips. It felt like a dream.

And he was so scared still, he was shaking. Maybe it was the alcohol on Dally’s breath and the drunken stupor, that reminded him of his dad. Maybe it was how unpredictable the moment was, how Johnny was so unsure of how to move or think or speak. And maybe, maybe maybe, it was the thoughts clouding his mind. The obscene ones he was obsessed with pushing away to the back of his mind, the ones he would silence any time they made a sound.

Maybe what scared Johnny was how much he liked it, and how much he knew that was wrong.

Dally was pickled and completely unaware of his surroundings, to the point he could barely walk. And here he was, feeling up little Johnny, probably thinking he was a girl. And here Johnny was, letting him. Like a sick, sadistic pervert. Like the monster he was. And Johnny never realized how evil he could be-he could be lazy, he could be worthless, he could be stupid, but he never thought about evil. It took so much strength just to ask Dal to go away, all that urge just to do the right thing-the good thing. And deep down, Johnny knew he would have much rather stood there and watch Dally get closer and closer. 

He was sick. He was disgusting.

And he didn’t want to think that that stupid night was the reason Dally refused to be around him, he was desperate to convince himself that that wasn’t it. Johnny couldn’t live with the guilt of that, knowing that he ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him because of his twisted mind. And the worst part of it all was that Johnny knew he was wrong and knew that he had to change, but he couldn’t. He tried. He’d go to church more often and pray for any semblance of a feeling to go away but nothing would ever work. And maybe, after that night, Dally knew. He found out the truth and now he was disgusted.

God, Johnny could never live with that. He’d rather die than have that happen.

A certain desperateness sprung in his heart. Maybe he had always been that desperate but it started to interfere with the way he was breathing and beating and feeling. And he wanted so much so suddenly, he needed something. If he didn’t have it then his vision would go cloudy and his air supply would be cut off.

He needed Dal, so much. He knew it was sick and wrong but, Christ, he needed him or something bad would happen.

He was already feeling it, the air being sucked out of his lungs, when he snuck out of his house. The sun was just barely going down and he felt too sick to notice it, vomit was curling in his stomach and throat and everything was tingling. He wanted to stop that feeling so badly, he didn’t know something could be that powerful. It was overtaking him and a few times he caught himself hanging off the side of a building, just trying to breathe as okay as possible. There was this thought in his mind that he if was just okay then everything would be fine.

Maybe he just needed to see Dally, maybe he just needed to know what he was doing.

Maybe Sylvia was what he was doing. Maybe at Buck’s.

Johnny felt lightheaded and nauseous but his brain was screaming at him, begging him to take a few more steps-just a few, Johnny, come on. It hurt and everything was on fire but that was all he needed-a few more stops, come on, stop being like this, you worthless piece of shit, just a few, come on, who are you?

It was loud, so loud, he wondered where the noise was coming from. It was stronger than anything he had ever heard before-what is this? Who are you? Jesus Christ.

Buck’s wasn’t too far away, not anymore. And he thought that would make all of the internal noise shut up just a bit, but it was still there. He didn’t know how’d he be able to make it with all of that going on. But he kept on trying, he didn’t know if he’d be worse off staying still-just trying to breathe a bit.

No, there was no more air in his lungs, but by some miracle he made it to the small, brick building. There it was, tiny but a seemingly looming shadow. And there was the door, and the door knob. Right there to be opened. There was music coming from the inside, some loud voices too. People were in there, and Dal was probably one of them.

Johnny’s hand was right there, hovering over the knob. He could just twist it, walk inside, ask for Dally, see if he’s there.

What if he is?

What would you say?

There were little beads of sweat on Johnny’s forehead, but they kept on getting bigger and bigger. Collecting into drops and running down his face, over his body, eventually swallowing him whole. And there he was, drowning, again. That fire and that noise was lapping at him again, screaming and sounding like nails on a chalkboard. And he was shaking, ferociously, grasping at his jacket as a way to maybe keep himself sane.

It was all going to shit. Christ, he needed to get a grip on himself-you piece of shit, it shouldn’t be this fucking hard, oh God, Jesus, you’re going to cry aren’t you?

He wasn’t.

He wasn’t.

No, he wasn’t.

His eyes were burning. He closed them, the tiniest blink, and it was all running down him, consuming him. He had to stop, he had to get away.

Disappear. 

He turned on his heels and put his head down, hiding himself, making himself invisible like he had always done. And it should be easy but he felt like the entire world was watching him, seeing him cry, pointing judgmental fingers at him. It wasn’t like normal, it was so so bad. And his lungs kept on getting tighter and tighter. 

The thing about Johnny was, when you really looked at it thoughtfully, he didn’t cry all that much. He barely did. But when he let it happen, he could go on for hours just bawling. Just curling in on himself and letting everything loose, maybe because he had so much stored up there. And he had gotten into such routine about his crying that he knew he needed a shadow, a crack, anything to hide him for those hours. 

An alley. He noticed one, not too far away from where he was. Something that could keep him hidden for just a bit, somewhere he could let it all escape. And he hated himself as he walked over there, hated the pride that slowly trickled away from him tear by tear. But he walked into the alley and sank into the floor, feeling that consuming ocean of darkness overtake him. And there it all was, as if he hadn’t even been crying before. There, in that alley right there, he figured out the difference between shaking and trembling, feeling suffocated and gasping for no air. Everything was dark and it felt like there wasn’t anything to live for anymore.

Maybe there wasn’t.

And about thirty minutes into his endeavor, Johnny heard a soft rumble. Like a car, inching towards him slowly. He turned his head to the sound.

A blue mustang, appearing out of the shadows. Creeping to where Johnny sat. He didn’t think it was too suspicious at first, until it got closer and closer. And then the engine reved and his mind was suddenly on alert.

His entire body woke up and he sprung from where he sat, legs pumping like they never had before and desperate to reach somewhere close to home. He barely made it out of the alley before some strong arms caught him and reeled him back into the space. And that’s when the screams made their way out of his throat, he could only think of one name.

“Dally! Dally!”

There was a sound, like a smack but rougher, a sting on his mouth, the taste and smell of blood. Turns out it was his.

He heard, “No one can hear you now, greaser.”

Then he was slammed to the ground, his head met the concrete with a snap or something like that. For a split second, everything was foggy and quiet and white. There was some ringing, but nothing other than that. It felt almost nice, almost good. He wondered what it would be like to just leave, up and disappear. He had always been curious about guys like that, he had always wanted to be invisible like Houdini.

Then he felt the kicks and punches.

Then the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you've noticed, the story is meeting an ending. Which is sad, I'm sure, but I'm planning to jump back into the waters as soon as it's done. You see, I have a few multi-chaptered Johnny and Dally stories so I thought once this ended I could just publish those, but I make Dally a huge, problematic jerk in both of them. And, yes, he's purposefully problematic, but I always find it's so difficult for me to write a decent Dally and a human Johnny, I literally make him an angel who does no wrong. So, I'm literally writing an entirely new story that I will publish after this ends, hopefully it'll be soon but I want to make sure my story has a solid foundation before I do anything too rash.


	13. I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters left baby! Hopefully, they'll be pumped out soon. I'm really trying to go for a character arc here, don't know if it shows. Maybe I'm making this story a lot more deep and subtle than it actually is. I hope you enjoy! AND PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time, even for me. November was impossible for me, and I'm less busy lately so we'll see what happens. Hopefully I can get this story finished by the end of the week, h o p e f u l l y...
> 
> Please enjoy the story!!!!

There was a random girl on Dallas's lap, he was drinking her in with a bit of beer on the side.  Sometimes, when he was drunk, he was too high out of his mind to think of Johnny. Sometimes, when he was drunk, Johnny was all he could think about. But he was known for taking his risks, and his chances.

He wasn't quite there yet - drunk. He needed a few more bottles before he really started getting tipsy. But there was a little bit of a buzz in his head, one that made him enjoy the friction of the girl on his legs. it almost made him feel, just a bit, all right. So he put his hands on her hips and kept her there and tried to forget.

He tried to make the night distant - the one from three weeks ago. He tried to ignore the feeling of it still warming the tips of his fingers. Like Johnny’s soft lips and the heat of his skin, the feel of his cheek. His breath, visible in the night, his eyes, wide and that kind of desperate that drove Dallas crazy. His shaking, his trembling, his fear. The dip in Dallas’s stomach when he recognized that feeling, so tangible, almost palpable.

He felt the girl grinding on him faster, it seemed to wake up his senses. He looked up at her, at her feverish face and felt a decision in his bones. He got up, moved her off his lap, and was ready to take her hand and lead her to a room. 

That's when he heard Buck call his name.

“Dallas!”

He jolted suddenly, shaken out of the stupor he had found himself in - some infinite space where reality ceased to exist. Dallas walked over to the place where Buck stood, by the phone near the wild bar. He handed it to him and yelled over the chaos, “It’s Darrel!”

Dallas nodded and put the phone up to his ear covering the other with his palm so that he could hear better, “Yeah, Darry?”

The breath on the other line was ragged, frantic. Dallas felt a creeping shadow nip at his neck and crawl down his back. “D-Dallas?”

“Yeah.”

“It's Johnny!” Darry said.

The immediate words that popped into Dallas's mind was fuck. He could already feel his fingers comb through his hair and his heartbeat quicken. "What about Johnny?"

A strained noise came out of Darry. “I - I don't know. Ponyboy ran over to the house and said that him and Two-bit found Johnny in some alley, beaten half to death-”

A sob escaped Dallas's throat, he fought it with his hand and found himself unable to speak. If anything, he wanted to scream. 

“And I told him to find the rest of the gang, lead ‘em to where he is. I just tried to get in contact with you.”

Dallas forced himself to form coherent words with his mouth. “Was it his dad?”

“I - I don't know.”

He licked his nervous lips. “Where is he?”

“I -um - I think some alley near Buck's.”

His heart dropped. Johnny was so near, so close. What if he was screaming? What if he was screaming for Dallas? And if he just stepped outside then he'd be able to hear, he’d be able to save him.

“Shit, I'll go look for him.”  
   
“No! Stay where you are. Are you at Buck’s?”

He nodded, then he said, “Yeah.”

“Okay. I'll send Ponyboy.”

Dallas nodded again as Darry hung up, only being able to sit still in his spot, just waiting for his heartbeat to quit beating so fast. It never stopped, it kept on going, halting all of his senses, all of his ways of feeling. It was an all-consuming force that reached his brain in terrible waves. And all he could think about was Johnny, all he could think about was the past few weeks of avoiding him and ignoring him and the possibility that this entire situation could have never happened had he just got his head out of his ass. But he was too horrible of a person for that to ever happen. He was too horrible and selfish a person to keep this reality from being what it was. And he knew, deep down, that this was all of his fault.  Every piece of blame he imparted onto himself because he knew he deserved it.

And right there, right there in front of everybody in Buck's, he could feel his chest moving up and down in rapid, rapid succession. Hyperventilating in front of the entire group of people he had hidden from all his life. And, in reality, that could have been everyone. That group of people he closed himself off to could be the gang, like Darry and Two-bit and Steve and Soda. That group of people could be Ponyboy, who was on his way to see this guy who he thought was a tough hood from New York on the verge of crying like a baby. The only person he had allowed himself to be slightly, slightly real with, slightly okay with, was Johnny. Johnny who he had been ignoring for the past month. Johnny who had always been there for him. Johnny who he was never there for. 

He was never there for him when his dad beat on him. He wasn't even there for him when he got jumped in this alley. 

This kid deserved a hero, he deserved someone who would always be there to protect him, who would always put his emotional needs before theirs. Not someone who disappeared every time he felt himself coming undone. Because Johnny was more important than any emotional insecurity, he was more important than sexual confusion, he was more important than dignity. He was more important than all the times Dallas wanted to have him sleepover at Buck’s with him, just to keep him safe for one night, and couldn't. He was more important than the hesitation Dallas felt just because he could barely stand himself.

 Johnny was his everything.

 

And maybe that was the moment when Dallas realized that was more important than anything.

A lot more fucking important than sitting around desperately and waiting for Ponyboy to get him instead of moving his ass to find the one he loved the most.

He stepped back from the phone, walking over to Buck and bluntly saying, “I'm leaving.”

There was a slight puzzlement in Buck’s eyes, but he ignored whatever thought he had and said, “Alright.”

Dallas took in a sharp breath, walking to where he had laid his jacket and slipping his arms through it. He noticed the girl he was dancing with before, on the lap of some other guy. She gave him this look when she saw him, a kind of glare and what was probably meant to be a sexy smirk. She might have thought that he cared, Dallas was too restless to care about anything but what really mattered. 

He walked over to Bucks’s front door,  just about to turn the doorknob when it opened. Ponyboy appeared through the bright light, disheveled, nervous, anxious. His greased up hair was sticking every which way and his eyes were filled to the brim with tears.

He started to say something but Dallas cut him off, “I already know, I already know. Let's just get over there.”

Ponyboy nodded solemnly and led him out the door, into the light and into the streets. A deep wave of anxiety washed over Dallas as he left Buck’s place, it was perhaps the idea of reality that seeped into his mind. It was all so real now,  Johnny, knowing where Johnny was, what had happened to him. He couldn't escape it anymore. Ponyboy was too far ahead of him to notice how emotionally overwhelmed he felt, which was great, for Dallas, it helped him force himself to keep moving on.

“We're almost there,” Ponyboy said, his little body was shaking. He ran his fingers through his hair, maybe in an attempt to calm it down, and immediately began to ramble. “Me and Two-Bit were just walking, we were just walking and all the sudden there he was. And we didn't know what was going on or what was happening, but he was just there and he was shaking and there was blood everywhere. There was blood all over him and I didn't know what to do, I was so scared. And he said to tell Darry and he said to get everyone and I just don't know what's going on now and he looks like he's dead. God, he really looks like he's dead, we had to get so close to him just to make sure that he was still breathing, if he was still alive. Everything was just open and red and bloody and he was crying like I've never seen him cry before-”

Dallas stepped ahead of him and put his hands on his shoulders, trying to rid of the graphic imagery coursing through his brain at his words. “Ponyboy, you got to stop. You just got to stop for a second. Don't even think, just take me to him.” He licked his lips and decided to add, “It'll all be okay.”

Ponyboy nodded, desperate for some encouragement, and almost leaned into him. Like he was looking for a hug or some physical attention of some sort. But Dallas gently prodded him, urging him to keep walking ahead. Ponyboy obliged and went on, head sunken, back slouched, body like a zombie.

It didn't take much longer for them to reach that secluded alley where Johnny was supposed to be, and Dallas felt his heart sunk like it hadn't even before. Ponyboy's body was already being enveloped in the shadows, when he turned back he saw Dallas refuse to move a muscle. And Pony opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, and Dallas was waiting for words to form. But then he closed it suddenly and just walked ahead, like any semblance of care was lost.

Dallas found that he really didn't want to move. He didn't want to see Johnny there like Pony had described him, bloody and beaten and empty. And there was this hitch in his heartbeat, a pestering thought: he had always admired this angel brought in his life. And he knew that he was an angel because how else could he have gone through all these things, all these things that Dallas himself had never experienced to the extent that he had, and still be able to come out so innocent and so bright and so incredible? That pestering thought entered his mind, that question: God, what if he had changed? What if he wasn't anything like he was before? What if this was his breaking point? Dallas couldn't stomach that, he'd rather die than stomach that. 

What if this was Dallas's breaking point? What would that even be? Why would it even happen?  Darry had said that Johnny was beaten half to death. What did that look like? Dallas didn't want to see what it looked like. He didn't want to feel anything at that moment.

And then he had to remember that Johnny was more important than what he wanted to feel. He had to remember that Johnny was too important for him to be scared.

So he marched on into that secluded alley and he saw it and vomit just came up his throat. It was all acidic and it was scratching at his mouth and his stomach was doubling over and he was about to cry or scream or throw up. And he couldn't take another step, he wouldn't let himself. The view from there was too much, just blood, gore, a screeching noise in his mind. Dallas couldn't take another step, it was all too fucking much.

And through all that noise, he could hear a silent begging, beyond his hesitation and his fear. He didn't want to take another step, he really didn't, but Johnny was more important than that. He didn't want the gang to see him so broken and afraid so close to crying, but Johnny was more important than that.

So he took that step forward with all of the strength in his trembling self, he felt equally fearful and worried eyes stare as he drew closer to the broken body on the ground. He watched himself, from a bird's-eye view, draw closer to the broken body on the ground. They all watched him put calloused hands on it, they all watched him move nervous lips. 

“J-Johnny?”

There was a crack of an eye, a black eye surrounded by a bloodied face, and split lips battled for strength to speak. A noise came out of that roughed up face, something that was understood as, “Dally?”

“Yes,” Dallas whispered.

“Dal,” Johnny said so softly. “It hurts.”

“I know, I know-”

“I’m so sorry-”

“Ssh, don’t speak. Don’t speak.” He reached out and picked that broken body up, held him in his arms. “You're going to get better. Nothing bad's going to happen to you now. I promise.”

Johnny nodded, faintly. Then he closed his eyes.

 

They all crowded the hospital. A nurse, young and empathetic, walked over to them with loud kitten heels. She stopped and gave them a gentle smile, one that wasn't too forced so that it gave off the anticipation of bad news and one that wasn't too genuine to give off the anticipation of anything good. 

“Don't worry," she said. “He's going to be fine. Give him another day or two in the hospital and he’ll, hopefully, be well. He does not require any surgery, but we will need to keep him around for the next day or two just to monitor him and check that nothing is too serious. For now, we're taking care of wounds and fluids.”

Darry looked up at her with hopeful eyes, towering her as he made his way beside her. “So, he’ll be alright?”

“Yes,” she said. “But we have diagnosed a concussion, which means even after his release he’ll need six to nine days of rest. And, especially since this looks like a traumatic event, there are some things he may not even be able to remember.” 

Darry chewed on his bottom lip nervously, they all watched as his hands restlessly fidgeted.

"But he will be okay," the nurse assured. "And healthy in no time. It's nothing too serious."

Dallas felt like slapping her in the face, she walked away before he could. That nurse didn't know how serious this shit was. She didn't know how much the medical bills would cost Darry. She didn't know how this would permanently scar Johnny. She didn't know how bad enough he had an at home.

It wouldn't be okay. And everyone knew that, they all stood in the hospital wing still in shock. It was like every feature of their face was frozen, and they were clueless as to what to do next.

Darry checked his watch. "It's getting late. Y'all should go home."

Two-bit reached out and touched his shoulder. "No, Dar, we're staying with you."

Darry shook his head and peeled Two-bit's hand away. He forced a smile onto his lips. "No, y'all need to rest, and we can't all be here." He shrugged. "Besides, John wouldn't want the whole gang fussin' over him."

Two-bit nodded his head.

"You're right," Steve said.

Ponyboy shook like he was about to cry and Sodapop held on to his trembling shoulders even tighter. Darry watched them and gave them a solemn nod. Soda breathed in deeply. "I'll take this one home."

Ponyboy opened his mouth like he was about to protest, but then closed it and decided to cooperate. So did the rest of the gang. One by one, they all made their way out of the hospital wing, clapping Darry on the shoulder with a firm hand and tightly grinning. Dallas couldn't, his feet were planted to the ground, which Darry immediately noticed.

"Dal," he said quietly, "you should go."

Dallas shook his head feverishly. "I can't."

"Dallas-"

"No, Darry, I can't," he said firmly. "I can't move, I can't leave him. I have to stay here, you know that."

Darry was quiet, but a bit of understanding clouded his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

"Darry, I have to."

"I know."

Dallas inched closer to him, reaching his desperate hands out to touch the other man's shoulders. "Please let me stay."

Darry massaged the crease of his forehead. "I don't know, man-"

"Please," Dallas pleaded. "Please, you're so stressed and I need this.

"No," Darry said. "I can't leave, you know he needs me-"

"But-"

"I have to stay, but you should be here too."

Dallas paused and then desperately. In reality, that was all he had wanted. He could only think about how imperative his staying was, just for Johnny. At that moment, nothing else in his life mattered, not breath or rest or sanity.

It was almost like, after years of shutting his heart heart down, it was busting out of his chest.  He couldn't even begin to control the emotions he spent his entire life taming.

"Alright," was the only word that could make it out of his mouth. And it was silent but unconditionally grateful.

 

Dallas stayed in that hospital wing for the entirety of those two days. His neurotic waiting was interrupted, only occasionally, by Darry prodding food and drinks into his curled hands. Dallas was beyond care anymore, not for his sleep deprivation nor the stench clouding his clothes. 

Darry surprised him, at some point, by gently saying, "This isn't very romantic, you know. A knight in shining armor is usually sane."

Maybe, Dallas thought. He barely knew the definition of romance, and he definitely didn't know how to put those foggy ideas into action. But he thought that a big part of love was sacrifice, and perhaps a lack of mental stability for a few days made up for all the mistakes he made in the past.

So he waited and waited and waited. The nurse was so charmed by his lost-puppy persona that she allowed him to visit Johnny once or twice. He was always asleep. There was never a crease of pain on his face when Dallas saw him, if anything he looked peaceful. Maybe even happy.

It was sad, knowing that the one time he was calm was when he was sedated. 

Dallas would hold his hand, sometimes, as he sat by the hospital bed. Sometimes he would link their fingers together, taking in the little semblance of human warmth. He'd kiss those knuckles quietly, and wonder if Johnny knew he was there for him.

"I'm here," he'd whisper to the unconscious body. "I'll always be here now."

And then, he'd swallow, he'd fight the urge to look around and see what ears were listening. He'd dig deep inside of him and say in all sincerity, "I love you."


	14. Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second to last chapter, I hope everything looks like it's all coming together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I just finished this chapter today and I'm most likely going to finish by tonight as well. One more chapter babies! I'll write a huge thank you note later, let's just finish this story right now, ya???

Darry was waiting in the hospital wing for Johnny when he was released. They both stepped out into the open air with hopeful smiles, though Johnny's was more subdued than his partner's.

"They're all waiting for you back at home," Darry said excitedly. "We're real happy, we got chocolate cake and soda and everything."

Johnny grimaced. "Dar, y'all don't have to go though any trouble for-"

Darry raised his hand. "Shut up! This is really important for you and for us. We all need this. And you deserve this."

Johnny felt himself uncharacteristically tear up. He pushed down the emotion immediately but found himself thinking about how out of place he felt in his own body. There was a difference in how he thought and felt and even breathed, as if at any moment he could burst into tears. It was something he was suddenly supervising.

But he didn't want to think about the incident from a few days ago, so he shook off the vague feeling and tried to be happy.

Somewhere along the ride to the Curtis house, Darry lowered the radio and said, "Dal won't be there."

Dally was a thought that pierced Johnny's brain constantly throughout his hospital stay, right alongside his parents and the alley. It was almost like he was internally attacking himself with his own trauma.

"Oh?" He tried to sound unaffected.

"Yeah," Darry said. "He'll be there in a bit, but he's going home to wash up." He laughed heartily. "He stinks, man."

Johnny's interest suddenly piqued. "Why?"

Darry shook his head. "He hasn't left the hospital ever since you got in, he was there the whole two days and he barely ate or drank or took care of himself. He wanted to be the first person to see you today but I thought you'd rather hang out with someone less," his lips twisted into a smirk, "trashy."

Johnny laughed but felt a spike of curiosity inside his chest, maybe even a bit of warmth. It felt foolish and adolescent to think of, but he did appreciate the momentary, familiar distraction to everything else he was feeling. 

When they arrived at the house the entire gang erupted with screams and laughter. It seemed they were all ready to attack Johnny, but Darry held them back and reminded them of his current concussion. So they led him to the couch and handed him full plates of food he wouldn't finish, filling him in on all the news he happened to miss in the past two days. Darry was especially protective and Two-Bit was funny, Steve and Soda were goofballs and Ponyboy was clingy as ever.

When the group started to head in different directions, Ponyboy scooted closer to Johnny and whispered in his ear, "Darry told me not to bring it up because it might be traumatic, but I'm your best friend so I just have to know. And he said you might not remember much."

Johnny gave him a tight-lip smile and forced himself to stay calm. Ponyboy could be a lot to handle sometimes, but he always reminded himself that he was just a kid. And he had been his best friend since forever. "What do you want to know, Pony?"

The boy's eyes were wide and curious, and this seemed to be the best way he could express his sympathy and concern. "Who did it?"

Johnny sucked in a breath.

"Do you even remember? It couldn't be your dad-"

"It wasn't my dad," Johnny said firmly. "And… yes, I remember. But… I'll tell you about it later?"

Ponyboy almost pouted. "Do you promise?"

"Yes, Pony, I do."

 

About thirty minutes after that, the door opened with a loud creak. Dally walked in with wet hair that looked like it had been trimmed, his clothes were fresh and their scent carried itself all the way to where Johnny sat.

His heart started beating quick, like a little child. He realized that was the first time he had seen Dally in about a month.

The older boy smiled bashfully. And all he had to say was, "Hey, kid."

It wasn't much at all, but it was enough to make Johnny warm all over. Which he enjoyed at that moment in time.

The two of them hardly talked throughout the hour, they just exchanged awkward glances across the room. Dally didn't even come over to give him a faint touch, he just greeted him and then stayed out of his way. And, as time went on, Johnny felt a lot of tension building up at the base of his neck.

The party became a bit quieter, everyone was distracted by themselves or each other. And just when Johnny was ready to escape and get some fresh air, he felt a touch on his back.

His world lit up for a second, like a flash of lightning, and he jumped, silently without a hint of a gasp. A terror he had never known before rushed through his body, and he half expected to see a blue mustang when he turned around.

But it was just Dally, and he sighed in relief. He mumbled in embarrassment, "Sorry."

"No," Dally said briskly. "No, I shouldn't have scared you like that, I'm sorry."

"No," Johnny said, "It's fine, you don't have to apologize."

Dally awkwardly laughed, "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay."

It was as if those words had more meaning behind them, with the way they came out.

Dally cautiously reached out again, and placed his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Do you want to walk around town for a bit?"

Johnny nodded, careful not to make it too quick for fear of looking desperate and for fear of triggering a headache. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

Dally told Darry and led Johnny outside. They barely made it to the side of the house before Johnny found himself suddenly enveloped in a tight hug, so tight his breath got lost for a moment-well, maybe it was lost for other reasons. But it was over as soon as it happened and Dally quickly pulled away, running neurotic hands through now-dry hair and looking shy.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

There was a sudden boldness that Johnny found in himself as he said, "Don't be."

He could have sworn Dally turned pink, but he didn't get enough time to tell because he was being pulled into another, sweeter, hug. They both took their time with that one, and Johnny couldn't help but inhale the precious scent that donned Dally's entire body. 

He felt hot breath against his ear, "I missed you so much."

He nodded in the embrace. "I missed you too. I mean, I was unconscious a lot of the time, but when I was awake I was definitely missing you."

Dally laughed and pulled away, his eyes appeared watery. "Look, man, I can't ever lose you. I mean, I saw how that looked and I just couldn't even take it, even when I knew you were going to be okay."

Johnny's heart drummed in his chest, it was giving him the most pleasant headache.

"I need you to be okay. And I need you to be safe. You just have to be."

Johnny nodded halfheartedly, like he was in a daze, or a dream. "I can try."

 

"No." Dallas shook his head. "You have to promise me."

"Dal, I can't-"

"And I'm gonna make sure that never happens to you again. Screw staying at the lot, screw staying at the fucking Curtis house. You're staying with me at Buck's, every night, okay? I'm making sure you're okay 24/7. And nothing's gonna happen to you, because I'll be there."

There was something warm on Johnny's face, like the sun or something.

"I just-I need you, Johnny."

He might have even confessed, and that was all Johnny needed to hear to stay alive another day.

 

Later that day, they got ice-cream together, and ate their treats languidly on a bench in their favorite park. Johnny had been raised religiously, and ever since his youth he had been sold on this idea of heaven. All of his pastors and priests and Christian mothers had pitched a never-ending amusement park where you could pet exotic animals and ride on unicorns with Jesus. But at that moment, Johnny realized what heaven actually was.

Heaven was eating ice-cream with Dally on a park bench, and feeling shoulders brush against each other in consistent warmth. Heaven was reliving the most perfect moment of your life for the rest of forever, because what’s better than remembering what had made your life worth living?

And that night, Johnny curled beside Dallas Winston in a small bed at Buck’s. They weren’t touching or kissing or rolling around, and they probably never would, but it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life. 

There was too much love in his heart for him to handle, and even on one of the worst days of his life, he found himself feeling okay. Very, very okay. And maybe God was smiling at them.


	15. Dally

Dally fell asleep with no nightmares or insomnia. And as he drifted off, he thought of the many, many things in his life he was grateful for. And all the things that made him happy.

Like Johnny Cade.

_If I can't help falling in love with you?_

Elvis Presley- Can't Help Falling In Love(1961)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll write a huge thank later, but you can comment any questions or concerns you have and I can answer them


	16. Thank You!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically just me writing about my journey with this story, so if you're uninterested that's completely fine. But at the end of this I do talk about another story I'm working on, so if you wanna stay around to check that out go ahead!

So I don't know how many people are going to take the time to see this, but I feel like in this specific situation I just want to throw out a lot of thank yous.

I've been a bit busy with life, and I've been a little busy with working on a new Johnny/Dally story I'll talk about in a bit, so I haven't had the time to properly write this out. And I don't really know where to start, but I'll just say this:

I started this story around one year and a half ago, or maybe even two years ago. I got a few chapters in before I decided to release it, and I don't really know the reason why. I wish I could just write for myself, and sometimes I do, but often I write with the intention of reviving the fandom. For days I indulged in fanfic after fanfic on archive and eventually there was no more content to consume. Fics would only pop up every few months or so, even longer than that maybe. And only the same writers would update consistently, but there were often many unfinished fics and many favorite authors of mine who finished after a few one-shots. I found that reading fanfic inspired me to write, and I hoped that, even with a mediocre fic, I could inspire a few people myself who could in turn inspire more people themselves.

That was a main reason for publishing this. Another is that I just wanted to get my work out there. The thing is, I want to be a novelist, and I feel like seeing how my writing is perceived is crucial. Releasing fanfic is almost like a bit of beta-testing. I want to see what people think about my character development work, and my pacing, and the way I convey emotion. I know that no one is going to give me a detailed critique on what I got right or wrong, but just seeing people's reactions can allow me to see certain things I manage to write better than others. And another reason why this is kind of important to me is the fact that this isn't the first fanfic I've published. Back when I was 11 or 12 I got into the Disney fandom and I released a lot of cringey work on the app where gods roam, Wattpad. Cranking out fanfiction again helps me see the improvement I've made in my writing.

And here's another thing, a lot of emotions I convey are usually ones that I personally experience. As a closeted person myself who lives in fear of being disowned and unloved, I enjoy to write about characters who I find myself relating to in fiction. SE Hinton wrote about a straight, white kid who got abused by his drunk, deadbeat dad and beat because he was poor. But I, as well as a few other people, saw a kid of color who was hurt by his parents and society because he was gay. There's a lot of relatability to tap into when you're given a situation like that, even to people who haven't previously experienced that kind of trauma.

So there's a few things I tried to convey with this story: internalized homophobia, some hinted racism, child abuse, suicide, and even more things that are hard to talk about and write about. I tried to understand that trauma often leads to people who feel broken, and that people who feel broken often act out in violent and cruel ways. In the end, I feel that I paid more attention and care to Dallas and his character development, only because I find myself looking for more meaning and sympathy behind less than ideal characters. However, that means that I portrayed Johnny as an almost ideal person with little to no flaws. If there's one thing about this story I could redo, it would be that.

But, in the end, the story's protagonist isn't Johnny. It's Dallas, and he has the most important character arc to go through. Johnny has to come to terms with his homosexuality and accept himself, but Dallas has to realize how to be open and not close himself off- because he now knows that when he's too reserved and cold, he can hurt people. And, though they don't get together in the end, they both learn how to be content in what they have, and they both understand how they can help each other out by being good friends. It's like a love story, with a lot of other depressing factors in play.

Also, another detail I added that not many people seemed to notice was the way names were used. Whenever the story was in Dally's point of view he was referred to as Dallas, when it was Johnny's point of view he was referred to as Dally. I think I did that to convey how they both see Dally. He sees himself as a cold-hearted guy who lacks the ability to be sentimental, while Johnny sees him as quite the opposite. Was that conveyed well? I don't really know, but it was a fun thing to keep track of.

And that's all I really want to talk about in this little closing statement. But another thing I feel is important is that I'm working on another multi-chapter fanfic! I doubt it will be ready to be published for a while, but hopefully I'll have the time soon. Right now, I'm making sure to get my outline of the story done and I've already finished the first chapter and a bit of the second. So even if not many people care, I'd like to give a bit of a sneak peek! So here's the synopsis and my favorite bit of the written story so far:

 

Dallas Winston is the has-been he always knew he would be, he’s a 22-year-old who hates his life and can already see signs of a receding hairline. And on a day as bland as ever, where he expects nothing interesting to happen, a boy walks into his life and the convenience store he works at. Before he knows it, he’s giving him a ride and the most energy he’s had in years. He thought wild, eccentric strangers are the kinds of people you only meet in sappy movies, and all of a sudden this kid is turning his life into some cheesy rom-com. 

 

In the summer of 1985, my dad caught me sneaking out of the house. I was 15 and terribly impulsive, filled with rebellion that overflowed from my personality to my tattered jeans. My old man blocked the front door of our house, anger was etched in every wrinkle that painted his face. I had never known him to be easily upset, throughout my life he had always been a dispassionate figure in my mind, a cold-blooded bastard.

    But there he was, scolding me like I was a baby. Yelling at me like he cared for me in a way he never did as I grew up. It made me immensely angry, and in no time I matched his volume and we both screamed until our throats became hoarse. We probably woke the entire house up, though neither of us cared in the moment.

    I remember that he asked me, “Do you know what good sneaking out and getting drunk and high will do you? Nothing! Is that what you want to be when you grow up? A lazy-ass, nothing who doesn’t do anything with his life?”

    I told him, very clearly and enunciating every obscene word, “I don’t give a fucking shit!”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N hello, this is your author, here to give you your morning cup of depresso! To sadness! *drinks while sobbing*  
> This is my first time posting a fanfic and I hope you enjoy it, I'll try to update once a week


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